


I want to hold you to the sun

by gealach



Series: We shall burn [8]
Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asexual Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jean Grey School, M/M, Mention of Rape/Non-con, Nonbinary Character, Politics, Self-Harm, Time Travel, ace!Daken is the hill I will die on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 369,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daken would do anything for his children... and an unforeseen complication forces him to walk straight into his own death.<br/>Meanwhile, as America is about to elect its first mutant President, old and new threats appear, and Quentin struggles with the consequences of his actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta'd** by [ TheBrilliantDarkness](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrilliantDarkness/pseuds/TheBrilliantDarkness).
> 
> This is it: the beginning of the end. It seems yesterday, but I began writing **We shall burn** roughly a year ago! I wouldn't have come this far if not for you, my dear readers. 
> 
> Fasten your seatbelts, because this will be a long, bumpy ride. Updates will be somewhat erratical, but fear not: everything's planned already.
> 
>  **The usual reminder:** this series strays from canon after Daken's death in _Uncanny X-Force_.
> 
> This AU is loosely based on the future shown in _Battle of the Atom._
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> **  
> [IMPORTANT: please, please, _do not binge-reads this_. It deals in a heavy-handed way with some really dark, heavy topics, and while I promise there's going to be a happy ending, I can't say it's going to be an easy journey. So please, if you're struggling already with your mental health, consider reading this with long pauses between each chapter, or not reading at all.]  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING!** There are mentions of rape throughout the chapter.

1.

“I want to hold you to the sun,  
I want to be your faithful one,  
I want to show you all the beauty you don't even know you hold.  
I'm hurting you for your own good,  
I'd die for you, you know I would;  
I'd give up all my wealth to buy you back the soul you never sold.”

Emilie Autumn – _Liar_

 

 

Jubilee – pardon, _Wolverine_ – was going to kill him.

It wasn't enough that Quentin had attacked an officer of law _live_ ; it wasn't enough that he had spewed creative insults at the man in his native language – also live; it wasn't enough that he had stormed off – even if he had done it to avoid _killing_ that cop; and it wasn't enough that he had been continuosly avoiding his teammates' calls – his phone currently on the table must have had at least a hundred missed calls.

No, that wasn't enough, Quentin mused as he kicked one of the bastards in the face. He had entered the first not-too-seedy pub he'd found, he had gotten quite spectacularly drunk, and then found himself holding off three bastards who had thought their ideas of what had transpired in the streets a few hours before could be of interest to the rest of the pub.

Yes, if Wolverine had seen what he was doing, she would have definitely had a fit. Too bad he didn't fucking care right now.

“ _Anyone else want to insult that girl?_ ” he asked slowly in clear Japanese.

 _She got what she deserved_ , thought the man whose neck was pinned beneath Quentin's foot, and Quentin kicked him again.

“ _Think that again and I'll melt your mind_ ,” he spat.

This wasn't a careful approach, but he was drunk and he didn't _care_ and he was fucking _tired_ of humans thinking the only solution to mutants losing control of their powers was to kill them. And the girl had been so _young._ Her powers had probably only just began to manifest, and now she was dead because a cop had gotten scared. Why the hell had they called in the X-Men if they'd only intended on taking matters into their own hands?

Someone coughed discreetly behind him and Quentin whipped around on his heels. He hadn't sensed the intruder's approach because he had one of those fucking telepathy-blocking chips, and, well. Maybe his own mental state was to blame too.

It was a man dressed inconspicuosly.

“Bouncer?” Quentin grinned, swaying on his feet.

The man's nose wiggled; Quentin's breath probably didn't smell of roses.

“You are making a scene, Hou-ou-sama,” he said in English.

“Aw, _sama?_ Really? So proper!”

“Yes.” The nose wiggled again. “It would be best for you to follow me.”

“Or else you will – what?” Quentin challenged. “I can make you do what I want, you know.”

“They think they _special!_ ” shouted a bartender in atrocious English.

The man held up a hand. “ _Please. The matter is in our hands, don't worry,_ ” he said in Japanese.

“ _He destroyed my furniture_.” The bar owner began an endless tirade about what Quentin had done, what had he thrown, what had he burned – _jee, an-noy-ing._

The man slid a hand in his pocket and pulled out a check. “ _Here. Write down the amount you deem acceptable._ ” He let it fall to the ground. “ _With many apologies from Ryuujin_.”

That shut the man up. It also piqued Quentin's interest, and so he resolved to follow the man and see what he wanted. Were the stranger to try something, Quentin would simply shut his brain down.

 _Yes, yes, Wolverine will kill me_ – he sing-songed in his mind as he caught his phone from the table, saw that she was calling him – _speak of the devil_ – turned it off and slid it in his pocket. Swaying on his feet, he followed the man outside, where there was a black limousine waiting. The man opened the car door for him and beckoned him inside. Cocking an eyebrow, Quentin complied – he was staggering so much that the man had to help him in, and then the man closed the car door. Quentin closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the cold window, and as the car began moving he dry heaved, and placed a hand over his mouth. Ohhhh, he felt like shit –

“Quentin, are you okay?” Quentin sobbed at the voice – too painfully similar to Daken's. Perhaps he was hallucinating. Yes. That was it – he had evidently just gotten too old to get drunk. One reached that point, eventually.

“Quentin?” Again, and it was too agonizing to imagine Daken sitting in front of him, so Quentin opened his eyes and saw –

– Daken sitting in front of him.

Quentin's head bobbed and he bent down and he threw up on the car's floorboard, and probably on Daken's shoes too. _Oh, fuck._

“No, I can see that you aren't.” A hand on Quentin's head, and Daken's fingers run gently through his hair as he threw up again, blinking rapidly, too shocked and nauseated to try to avoid Daken's now-not-so-clean shoes. _Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry_ –

Daken was shushing him softly, and Quentin felt tears at the corners of his eyes as he continued vomiting. When he felt nothing was going to come up anymore he still remained bent down, because he didn't want to straighten up and face Daken, he didn't want to see his face.

“Can you sit up? Quentin, are you okay?”

This was ridiculous. He had to take responsibility for his actions. Quentin held himself, gritted his teeth, and sat up.

Daken was sitting in front of him, still slightly bent towards him, brows knitted in worry. _Oh, no, I don't deserve it. I_ don't. He was as handsome as Quentin remembered him, long black hair tied in a loose ponytail, bright blue eyes that were watching him as if he were something about to explode.

He _was_ something about to explode. He was trapped in a car with the man whose mind he had bent and twisted horribly, who had dealt him a blow and then escaped, as was his right, but that didn't change the fact that Quentin was still reeling from it. And the image of that poor girl's fragile body shot by the police was still in his mind, and he was holding together the Phoenix's powers with effort, so having an emotional breakdown in such a tiny space wasn't an option. _Control. Yourself_.

“How did you know where I was?” Quentin managed to keep his voice calm.

“Security cameras, of course. Quentin, are you okay?” Daken was behaving as if that night of five years ago hadn't ever happened – but it _had_ and Quentin couldn't pretend everything was okay.

“No,” he choked out, “No, I'm not.”

“That girl's death wasn't your fault.”

 _I should have stopped the bullet, I_ could _have stopped the bullet, I'm a_ telekinetic, _for God's sake!_ “Yeah, I know that.” _Liar, liar, liar._ “Those bastards – in the bar –” he seethed at what they had said.

“There won't be problems, Quentin. I've settled it quietly, the press won't know about your – outburst.”

Quentin laughed. It was hysterical, and he couldn't stop it. Here was Daken, setting things right, taking care of Quentin's shit, and Quentin didn't _deserve_ this.

“I'm taking you back to your hotel. Your teammates will –”

“ _No_ ,” Quentin spat, “I don't fucking want to see anyone right now.”

Daken blinked. He touched the intercom, and told the chauffeur to bring them home.

Meaning, probably, Daken's own home. _Oh, no, I can't_ –

“There's no need –”

“I won't throw you on the streets, you're _drunk_. What happens if you decide to go fly for a while and then you pass out when you're in the air?”

_I don't deserve this, I don't deserve you worrying about me._

“I'd die, probably,” he said, unblinking, and Daken stared at him, just _stared_ at him long, and hard, and then said:

“No. I don't think so.”

“Look –”

“ _No_. It's my house or your hotel, Quentin.”

Face his team leader whom he wanted to punch in the face due to her bland approach to the events that had transpired, or face a long, sad night with a man whose life he had probably ruined? There wasn't a doubt in his mind with whom he would have rather spent time with, and that, given what he had done, was damn selfish of him. But his head was spinning at Daken's mere presence, and the alcohol burned through his veins, and he wanted to set at least something right somehow, and this he could, because that girl was dead, but Daken was alive.

“Fuck, okay. Your house it is.”

He settled back on his seat, and Daken removed his own shoes and brought his legs up to sit cross-legged.

“Sorry about your car,” Quentin said, staring at the pool of vomit, because it was better to begin with something this simple, but he couldn't bring himself to look up at Daken's face.

“I'll change it.”

The rest of the ride was painfully silent, and Quentin knew his own gaze must appear vacant and idiotic from the outside – but he couldn't bring himself to speak again. The ride ended too quickly, and the ineffable chauffeur opened the car door once more. Daken disentangled his long legs and exited the car barefoot; Quentin, still inebriated, was far less elegant, even managing to step in the expansive pool of vomit. _Wonderful._ He got out of the car staggering and Daken caught him. As if from far, far away Quentin heard Daken tell the man to station outside, “and notify me _as soon_ as it's cleaned up,” and then he was walking, an arm around Quentin's waist, the other holding him upright. What a disgusting picture he was making, Quentin thought, lips curling in a sneer.

He hadn't succeeded in getting a good look at the house as they were approaching it – but then they were inside, and it was really _nice_. A wide, elegant entrance, and he glimpsed a gigantic living room as they walked, and a room – a study, perhaps – with its door ajar to present a view of stacked bookcases; and then they were entering another large room. The wall opposite its entrance constructed entirely of thick, polished glass, through which a garden was visible, illuminated by some lanterns. A sliding door lead outside. _Nice_.

Daken turned on the light, and the most conspicuous furniture in the room was revealed. _Ah_.

“Bathroom first, I think,” said Daken, and led him to the left, to a room as pristine as himself, white and immaculate. There was a bathtub _and_ a shower box – but Quentin's attention was drawn quickly to the toilet, and he rushed over to it.

“Yes, well,” a murmur behind him, and then Daken was on his knees beside him. “I think I'm going to push your nausea to its limit, if that's all right for you.”

Pheromones certainly came in handy, Quentin thought as he nodded, eyes wide, and then he _couldn't_ think anymore because he was throwing up his soul in that poor toilet. He shuddered and vomited and shuddered and vomited and shuddered and vomited till there certainly _couldn't_ be anything more in his stomach, and all the time there was a hand on his back, moving constantly in a soothing, circling caress. When he finished Daken procured him a tootbrush and toothpaste, and he took them without a question and brushed his teeth. He splashed cold water on his face, too, because he felt bathed in sweat, sticky and disgusting.

“Feeling better?”

Almost. He could not feel better, not now, not with all those thoughts spiralling in his head, but at least now he could think somewhat clearly. They went out of the bathroom, and yes, the enormous, lavishly arranged bed was still there. _So this is my punishment_ , Quentin thought, and it was good, it was just, and he would have even enjoyed it, probably, because he was a fucking _monster_.

Daken led him to it, and made him sit, and then he – he _knelt_ in front of him, and began fumbling with the strings of one of Quentin's shoes. It was, for a moment, out of place and so ridiculous that Quentin just stared at Daken's lowered head, surmising that this was, quite obviously, a hallucination: he must be passed out in a dark alley, drowning in his own vomit.

Daken removed the shoe and went to the other one. He was visibly aroused: his pupils were so dilated, and no, this wasn't a hallucination. This was _real_ and –

“So what's going to happen now?” Quentin asked, and realised his voice was low and his hands were grasping madly at the covers, and that the sight of Daken on his knees in front of him was doing _things_ to his brain and his cock, because he was a fucking asshole. A bastard, a son of a bitch, a damn _animal_ – “Are you going to take advantage of me?”

Daken started and raised his head, a slightly puzzled look in his eyes. He blinked. “You're drunk.”

“No, I'm pretty lucid.” Quentin couldn't tear his gaze off Daken's kneeling figure. “You should, you know. That's what I deserve. For what I did to you.”

“What you did to me.” Daken blinked, and for a millisecond there was a look of horror on his face. He was recalling that night, probably. Quentin felt nauseous.

“Yes. I forced you, no? I forced your hand. Your mind. I hurt you. I _deserve_ this,” Quentin spat the word.

Daken was staring up at him, rigid, a hand still over Quentin's shoe. “What do you think I should do?” he asked, and his voice was rough. “Tell me.”

“You should hurt me,” Quentin said, and Daken's breath hitched. “You should make me bleed. You should bend me and beat me and bury your claws in me, you should pin me down and do what you want and throw me away, a bloody pulp, something so disgusting people would look away –” Daken's lips had parted as Quentin spoke, and his pupils were now black pools. _Good. Do what you want with me. Do what –_

“You would let me do this to you,” Daken's voice was strangled, “Because you think you hurt me?”

“I know I did. I –” _I'm so sorry. I – God, I'm sorry_. “There's nothing I can do to make it up to you. But you can avenge yourself, you can – I'm here. Take me. I won't do anything, I won't resist, I won't –”

“You've giving me a fair bit of power over you, Quentin.” Daken appeared to be having trouble breathing. “Are you sure that's wise?”

Quentin very nearly laughed. It wasn't but he had never been and fuck, he deserved it. “I want to make it up to you. I deserve –”

Daken was close now, very close, hands on the mattress at Quentin's sides, face mere inches from his. Quentin's breath hitched. _Fuck. Yes, punish me, hurt me_ – Daken's lips appeared so soft and moist, parted as they were, tongue darting briefly between his teeth. “You seem to be on a self-destructive rampage, Quentin,” he whispered, breath warm against Quentin's lips.

“I'm a monster,” Quentin exhaled, tears tingling at the corners of his eyes. _I've always been. A fucking monster. I hurt you. And Evan's dead because of me, too, because he wanted a world where we wouldn't be destined to kill each other. If I hadn't attached myself to him, if I hadn't_ made _him fall for me, nothing of this would have happened, nothing, he would be alive, Logan would be alive, and_ – _and I_ hurt _you, I_ –“Beast _told_ me that I'd conditioned you, that I had conditioned Hiro, but I hadn't understood, I hadn't – if I _had_ I wouldn't have _assaulted_ you that night, I wouldn't have –”

Daken's features contorted as if he had been slapped and he was trying to regain composure. “ _Quentin._ ”

“That's basically rape, what I did to you.” Quentin realised his own voice was quivering. “When you consent because there's something fucking with your brain, that's rape. I raped you.”

“Quentin –”

“Rape me.”

Daken blanched – no, he was red, he was beet red with flaring white nostrils and pale, thin lips, and he was so still; and then his face contorted, lips curling up, teeth showing in an angry snarl, and his hands were on Quentin's thighs and he was pushing them apart with force, and Quentin's outer calves were pressed hard against the bed's base, and it hurt, but the pain was good and he deserved it and –

“You want me to _rape_ you?” Daken snarled, mere inches from him, and he was furious, and he was terrifying, and he was beautiful.

“That's what I des–”

Daken let go of him so fast that it almost gave him whiplash, his legs shaking from the strain. His ears were ringing, and he stared, hopeless, as Daken went back to his feet and caught Quentin's chin, his hand a vise.

“I may have fucked this up but you are crossing a line here, Quentin,” he said through gritted teeth, and his eyes were slits. “Think carefully about what you are going to say next.”

Quentin bit his lower lip. There was nothing to think about. He knew what he had done, he knew he had to pay. “I hurt you.”

“You're hurting me _now,_ ” Daken snarled, and his hold on Quentin's chin was beginning to really hurt. Then he shut down, quite literally. His features smoothed, and his eyes were blank, and he was staring down at him with a blank expression. “This can go both ways,” he said, voice level. “You can be the child you were in that bar, unthinking and impulsive. I can tear off your clothes and fuck you bloody till you beg me to stop, but I _won't_ stop, I won't _care_ , and you will pass out, a whimpering, crying mess, and then I'll throw you out in the trash can. As you desire.” He spoke slowly, every word a dart that was aimed right at Quentin's throat. Quentin felt as if he was being torn apart already, mauled and gnawed and swallowed whole by a void. “Or you can be the adult I know you are. You can sleep this off, remove the alcohol from your system, rethink what you said and whom you said it to, and tomorrow we will talk. I'm fine with both outcomes.” It hurt. This emotionless, void voice hurt. “The choice is yours. But think it through. Think long, and hard. Be honest. I'll know if you aren't.”

He waited, just waited; he let go of Quentin's chin and stared down at him and waited, waited, waited. He was one of those inscrutable stone idols of old, face impenetrable and eyes hard, and Quentin found himself thinking he was gazing into an abyss, and if you gaze long enough into an abyss, shouldn't the abyss gaze back?

“I missed you,” Quentin choked out, and no, that wasn't _right_. He had no right to speak like this. “I – I thought there was something, I – I don't know, it was a moment, a perfect moment – and then you told me that it wasn't real, that I had basically _forced_ you and –” Daken wasn't acknowledging a thing he was saying, Quentin could have just as well spoken to a statue. Daken was just waiting for his answer. He wasn't interested in drama or in Quentin's pity party. It wasn't right that Quentin, after doing _that_ to him, would also submit Daken to pointless regret that didn't mean a thing in the face of the damage Quentin had done. Daken was furious, he had a right to be, and what had possessed Quentin to think he had the right to have a say in how Daken ought to avenge himself? _Daken_ got to decide that, and it would be slow and painful and unexpected and well deserved. There was only one thing he could say, so he said it. “I think I'm going to sleep, and –” words failed him; Quentin dug his fingers into the covers. “– and. That.”

Wordlessly, Daken went back to his knees, and removed the other shoe from Quentin's foot. Then he stood up, and caught Quentin around the waist and dragged him up – Quentin stumbled – and he reached behind him to pull the covers back, put Quentin on the bed again and shoved him under the blankets, and tucked him in – all with the brisk firmness of a nurse dealing with a particularly trying patient. Quentin was about to burst out crying. He felt humiliated and remorseful, he felt like shit, he wanted to cry in relief and cry with embarassment, with self-hate. Daken must hate him right now. Daken hadn't _asked_ to deal with this shit –

Daken stared down at him with empty eyes. “If you need to throw up, roll over and do it on the floor,” he said slowly, voice level. “If you ruin my sheets, I will stab you.”

He walked slowly to his bathroom and turned off the bedroom's light and the bathroom's door closed with a soft click, leaving just a thin line of light visible from under the door, and Quentin sobbed once, and twice, and he burst out crying, with loud sobs that Daken must surely hear, they were surely annoying, but he couldn't stop, he _couldn't_ – Quentin grabbed the covers and threw them over his face, and bit his fingers, hoping this would muffle them. But Daken had fucking hypersenses, and he would hear them anyway. Quentin was just making this worse, with this fucking childish behavior, and so he removed the covers from his face again, staring at the ceiling, and tried to focus on the elegant, delicate carvings barely visible in the dim light coming from the garden. He followed the lines with his gaze, trying to calm down. This he could do, this he was a master of; he was fairly accomplished in self-control. He had to be. Slowly, slowly, his sobs quieted. He waited in the darkness and the silence, wondering what would happen when Daken emerged from the bathroom, wondering what Daken was doing in there. Perhaps – probably, even – he was simply fighting the urge to return to the bedroom and tear Quentin to ribbons.

Daken re-emerged just as Quentin was about to doze off, and Quentin stiffened, grasping the covers, as Daken, now wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, approached the bed. His face was a mask, his eyes unreadable, and he just slid under the covers from the other side of the bed, and rolled to his side, back to Quentin, as far as he could be from Quentin without falling down. He hadn't said a word. Quentin wanted to apologise, wanted to tear his own face off and beg forgiveness, wanted to reach out across the bed and touch Daken's shoulder and beg till he had no voice, but the distance was insurmountable and this was just a fucking miserable, hideous situation. He should have let himself be brought to the hotel. He shouldn't have gone off after the mission. He should have never _gone_ on mission – he should have fucking stayed at the school, safe and pampered and away from conflict, away from this, from this fucking situation – he wanted to curl in a ball and cry till he had no air in his lungs, and oh, fuck, now he was whimpering, that must be annoying, that must –

– a coccoon of blessed peace enveloped him, his breathing came a bit easier, and he just wanted to sleep now, sleep the sleep of the dead, and in a tiny, far away, lucid part of his brain he realised that he had been so annoying that Daken was forcefully putting him to sleep with the pheromones. He slept –

_Daken caressed his face, a halo of flames crowning his head, and smiled at him and kissed him, slowly and leisurely, and ground against him –_

You're raping me, Quentin. Just like Romulus, just like Romulus –

_Daken was covered in blood, the print of a hand on his neck. He was pinned to the tree and he couldn't move, and Quentin was a void tearing his limbs apart, a bird of prey eating his entrails._

Forcing yourself upon a poor kid, Quentin.

_Hiro looked up, and he was sobbing._

Let go, Quentin-san.

_Quentin was screeching, holding Daken's wrists, and he bit Daken's neck and Daken moaned, and moaned, and moaned –_

This was just my conditioning.

_Evan sat on his tomb, legs dangling, and he looked like a kid, he looked like he looked like when everything was simple._

You're a fucking animal, you know that, Quentin?

_Quentin devoured Daken's face, leaving only a skull behind._

I asked you to kill me, not to burn me alive. Do you even know how it is to be burned alive? Ask Daken, I'm sure he knows –

_Apocalypse sneered at him, covered in blood, he was killing everyone, everyone –_

There was someone holding Quentin tightly, someone murmuring, and Quentin blinked and it was Daken,

 _Ah, I chose well_ , the Phoenix said,

but it couldn't be Daken, because Daken hated him, and then Quentin closed his eyes and slept.

_And all was well for a while, but then the little girl in the street looked up at him, and she was barely holding it together, she had rays coming out of her eyes, just like Cyclops – and then the bullet hit her, he should have seen it, he should have stopped it, he could have stopped it –_

And he was woken up by a shout ringing in his ears and found himself in a bed, covered in sweat, entangled with sheets; and he thought he had shouted, but then he heard it again.

“I said _no!_ ”

Quentin rolled to his side and there was no one in the bed with him. He saw a figure out in the garden. Daken was on the phone, walking restlessly like a tiger in a cage, gesticulating wildly, and it was clear from the way his face was contorting that he was angry with whoever he was speaking to. He was shaking his head, and then he said, slowly, clearly, “You won't use that. You don't want to use that; listen to me –” and then he was speaking with a normal tone of voice and Quentin couldn't hear him anymore, the windows separating the room from the outside too thick, so he rolled to his back again and slept.

He woke up to a weight on the bed and opened his eyes, and saw Daken just as the man covered himself. He saw Daken's face just for a fraction of second, and he was looking straight at Quentin with an expression that, later, when Quentin thought about this night again – and he did, countless times – he recognised as regret.

 

* * *

 

Quentin woke up in the morning. He knew it was morning because a bright light hit him from outside; his surroundings were unfamiliar, and he was looking out of a wall that consisted entirely of thick glass, and which provided a view of a little well kept garden.

He groaned; his head hurt like hell. He stretched – the bed was enormous – and got rid of the sheets entangling him. They were humid, and quite frankly his clothes were, too, and smelled; he must have sweated profusely during the night. It was just like when he got drunk, and –

Oh, right. He _had_ gotten drunk.

And – oh. _Oh._ Quentin's eyes widened as the events of the previous night came rushing back. He had fled the field without explanation, had avoided all calls from his teammates – he thrust his hand in his pocket; he recalled vaguely having put the phone in there before leaving the bar. As he turned the phone on, it began buzzing incessantly. _Jesus_. Missed calls and messages, that stopped coming at 3 a.m., more or less. Quentin opened the latest message, from Wolverine. _I hope you're OK, Quentin. Call as soon as you can, and please remember the press conference at 10 a.m._ Right, the press conference with the Director-General of Mutant Affairs. Set when things were yet to go wrong, when they had assumed that the situation would be resolved quickly and without lethal force from any side. The Director-General would probably grovel and excuse herself. He still had some time, would still be able to arrive at the Ministry quickly, were he to remember where he was exactly, and –

… _and tomorrow we will talk._

Quentin froze, a flood of memories in his brain.

… _rethink what you said and whom you said it to, and tomorrow we will talk._

Oh, God. He was in Daken's house, in Daken's bed, and he had – Quentin blanched. Nausea took hold of him as he recalled what he had _said_. The _horrid_ things he had said. He sat up on the bed, bile surging up, but swallowed it down as he searched frantically for his shoes; they were nowhere in sight. He stood up, walked barefoot to the bathroom, and washed his face. His reflection in the mirror showed him a fucking _idiot_. He had fucked up, he had _fucked up_ , how on Earth had he thought to say something goddamn awful like _rape me?_ Oh, God. He had to find Daken and beg his forgiveness, for _everything_ , but now also for that, too.

He went out of the bedroom and tried to retrace his steps from last night. He reached what he thought was the study, and he opened its door to look inside, but Daken wasn't there, and shelves full of books were Quentin's only greeting. _Jesus Christ. Oh, Jesus Christ_ –

“Daken?” Quentin called as he kept walking in the corridor. “Daken?”

He found him in the gigantic living room. Daken was surrounded by holo-newspapers and other holograms, documents from the look of it, and was just constantly rotating on spot, reading and dismissing and sometimes signing. There was something odd about his face – something out of place. A movement caught the light from the outside and something reflected it, and Quentin realised with a start that Daken was wearing glasses. Glasses with thin metallic arms. _Glasses_.

Daken still hadn't acknowledged him, so Quentin took another step into the room. “Daken?”

Daken didn't turn towards him. “Your shoes are being dry-cleaned. They should be ready soon.”

“Okay –”

“Then you should go.”

Quentin winced.

“Look –”

“You have a press conference.”

“That's not _important_ ,” Quentin said. “I know what that pompous bitch will say.” Daken's jaw clenched. “She'll say it's not the Japanese Police's fault, that that cop had to make a choice, that it was a tragedy that couldn't be avoided, and that she hopes the X-Men's relationship with Japan will continue.” Quentin slowly approached Daken. “They always say the same things.” That is, the countries that _had_ a Director-General of Mutant Affairs always did the bare minimum. This would maybe change, once Alison got elected. But that wasn't important now. “That's not important, what's important is –” Daken whipped on his heels to look at him, face unreadable, and Quentin swallowed and went on. “I – I remember what I said tonight. I –”

“You really should leave.” Briefly shutting his eyes, Daken removed his glasses and placed them on a table. He dismissed the holograms, and he wasn't looking at him anymore.

“No, please. I – I was drunk, and that's not an excuse, okay, but I didn't mean that. I would never – that was a fucked up thing to say, and I'm sorry I said it, so sorry, please –”

Daken looked at him. “Quentin, I don't care. I'm telling you to leave. It's for your own good. Trust me.”

“I need to talk with you about this,” Quentin begged, “Please.”

Daken just shook his head, and the big screen to their right flickered and turned on, displaying a stage with a table on it, and sat around the table were Wolverine, Idie, Billy, and Iceman.

“Is it 10 a.m. already?” Quentin asked. He hadn't taken Daken for the type to program his TV to turn on to watch a press conference. He dismissed the thought and turned towards Daken again. “You said we would talk. You said, _tomorrow we will talk_. I remember that.”

“Of _course_ you're the kind of drunk who remembers everything that happens,” Daken rolled his eyes.

A hysterical fit threatened to rush from Quentin's mouth, but he bit it back. “I'm terrible like that. Can't we sit and talk about what happened? Please, let me apologise to you. Can I – can I sit?” Quentin placed a hand over the sofa that was placed just in front of the TV. Daken winced.

“No, you can't.”

“Okay. I'll stand.”

“You need to go _away._ ”

“No.”

“I'm trying to _help_ you!” Daken snapped, and there was some sort of noise from the TV, and the pompous Director-General Arakawa was walking on stage. She didn't go to sit at the table with Quentin's teammates, but stopped in front of it, her back to the cameras, and –

She knelt on stage. Daken cursed, and Quentin watched in horrified fascination as she bowed deeply, hands on the floor of the stage, head lowered, probably touching the floor of the stage, and thank god she was wearing pants and not a skirt. He knew that position, didn't he? He saw recognition in Idie's face, too – and all the faces of the X-Men registered varying degrees of shock. If the sounds of clamouring issuing from the television were anything to go by, the journalists were going wild.

“You did that, once, right?” Quentin winced, “I mean, _Hiro_ did.”

“Yes.” Daken's voice was level. “That's dogeza.”

“She's _apologizing?_ ” Quentin realized his voice was filled with bewilderment. But that wasn't important just then, he had to focus on Daken, apologize to Daken –

Maiko Arakawa spoke slowly, and clearly, in English.

“I come in front of you not as member of this government, as my resignation letter lies on the desk of the Minister of Internal Affairs. I come in front of you as former Director-General, because I failed you, and I failed every Japanese mutant. I come in front of you as fellow human being, as a citizen who is shocked and dissatisfied with this government's handling of yesterday's tragedy, and countless tragedies before that. Please accept my humble apology.”

Wow. Wow, those were strong words; Quentin regretted having called her a bitch earlier. She was still kneeling, waiting for someone to acknowledge her words, and Quentin tried to reach Wolverine to prompt her, but it appeared the Ministry was protected by a telepathy-blocking shield. Thankfully, Wolverine shook out of her stupor and stood up.

“We accept your apology, Arakawa-san.”

The woman rose into a kneel and looked up at Wolverine. The flashes from the journalists' cameras in the room were clearly visible on the screen. Then, still kneeling, the former Director-General rotated on the spot to face the cameras. She was artfully composed.

“I speak now to every Japanese mutant – to _every_ mutant who might be watching this.” She paused. “You are not safe. You will never be safe. I say this with regret, as there was a time I thought we could coexist, but you are not safe. I speak now to you in my capacity of Attorney at law. I speak now on behalf of my client, who for the moment wishes to remain hidden, for her own safety. I speak to you on behalf of Miss Raven Darkhölme, formerly known as Mystique.” Quentin gasped, and wasn't the only one, as he saw clearly on the screen the shocked faces of his teammates. They appeared frozen on spot, and the constant background chatter had died out as Arakawa spoke. But – this wasn't _possible_ ; Mystique was _dead_ , she had died years ago, when – Quentin turned towards Daken, and the man was pale, eyes shut tightly and hands grasping the sofa's back.

“Hey, did you _know_ this?” Quentin asked, and he hadn't the time to hear Daken's response or lack thereof.

“In accordance with the Utopia Convention, my client wishes to proclaim again the state of indipendence in the island of Madripoor. The borders are open to whichever mutant should decide to seek santuary. Nobody, I repeat, nobody will be turned down. _My client_ ,” she raised her voice, because there was chaos in there now, and Robert was standing up, and Quentin thought that he really _ought_ to be there with them, “My client also wishes to pledge for the peaceful cooperation of the X-Men. She is not a rampant super-villain infesting the streets and murdering innocents and dissenters alike,” she was articulating slowly, staring straight at the camera, and her choice of words was odd, eerily familiar to Quentin –

It was what _Quentin himself_ had said in the bar. _You all deserve a rampant super-villain infesting the streets and murdering innocents and dissenters alike, you deserve a fucking monster ready to slaughter you like the pigs you are._

She was – she was quoting him. Quentin blanched.

“My client wishes for peaceful cooperation, and as a sign of good faith she's ready to have an agent of hers stationed at the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning, for the X-Men to use as a liaison. The agent in question is already discussing details with an X-Man –”

 _No_ , Quentin thought, _no_. They were trapped because this was live and if they refused that would have only strengthened Mystique's play, would only have confirmed the rumours that the X-Men didn't care about mutants and slept with the enemy –

“Akki, do you copy?”

And for a blissful, stretched moment Quentin thought that the agent was the wanna-be-superhero he and Rachel and the others had met years ago in Tokyo, but that girl had been Daken's adoptive daughter, and there was a strange return of the woman's voice, and then Daken said, clearly:

“Yes, Arakawa-san, we hear you.”

And behind the table, behind the standing, shocked X-Men, was a screen, and Quentin was faced with a startling reflection of himself and Daken standing behind the sofa, and that fucking bitch was saying, still looking straight at the camera:

“Thank you, Akki. Thank you for agreeing to meet with my client's agent, Hou-ou-sama. My client is very pleased. I do assure you, as I assure the X-Men, that she has no intention of dealing with her responsibilities in a violent fashion. Those days are far behind; she is not a monster ready to slaughter humans like pigs.”

The bitch was blackmailing him. The bitch was _blackmailing_ him. She was threatening to devulge a disgusting video of himself drunk and beating the crap out of helpless humans; a video of himself saying those things, _wishing_ those things upon humans. That would have been a nightmare, that would have destroyed their reputations. So Quentin braced himself and hoped the others would understand he had no choice.

“I'm sure of that, Arakawa-san.” Quentin didn't know how he managed to keep his voice calm. Not with Daken standing beside him. “I'm sure that our cooperation with Madripoor will be fruitful. I look forward to that.” Wolverine widened her eyes and then narrowed them; Quentin hoped she had understood.

She _had_ ; she went to stand beside Arakawa and offered her hand for the fucking bitch to shake. The woman took it, and they shook hands, and Wolverine said, “I'm sure your agent has still much to discuss with Phoenix; perhaps we should let them work while we answer some of these reporters' questions?”

 _Oh, Jubilation, I adore you._ Arakawa started and looked at the camera and for a fraction of second she seemed doubtful. _Yes, you fucking bitch, you have a right to be._

“Yes, we still have a lot to discuss,” Daken said calmly, “I'll contact you soon, Arakawa-san.”

The fucking bastard. The fucking – _I've settled it quietly, the press won't know about your – outburst._ The bastard!

Quentin didn't know, really, he _didn't_ , how he managed to remain calm and collected as the communication was cut off, but as soon as he was sure that fucking screen wasn't showing them anymore he whipped on his heels and – it must be the stress – Daken flew backwards, hit by Quentin's field force, and collided with a fancy glass bookcase, which shook but held his weight.

Before he could approach Daken, a good number of black-wearing people swarmed into the room, guns ready, and Quentin snarled, turning to face them.

“It's all right,” Daken snapped from where he was.

One of the men hesitated. “Ryuujin?”

“ _I said it's all_ right,” Daken repeated, in Japanese. “ _Go. Protocol Four._ ”

They vanished from the room as if he had announced the end of the world, but Quentin didn't care about them. All he cared about – he turned sharply and advanced towards Daken, reaching him in a few steps, and Daken shuddered, pupils wildly dilated. He was bracing himself on the bookcase. He grinned crookedly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're extremely attractive when you're this infuriated, Quentin?”

Quentin scoffed and got closer. He was managing, with some effort, to keep the angry screeches only in his head, to keep the flames at bay.

“ _Why?_ Why do this? I'd have no qualms if you decided to fuck with me, you have the _right_ to fuck with me, but this –”

“Ah, you're _burning_ with sheer incredulity –”

Pissed at himself, at this fucking situation, at the guilt for what he had done to Daken, for the situation he had put the X-Men in, Quentin grabbed Daken's shirt and snatched him closer.

Daken yelped and paled. “Easy, easy.”

 _What?_ Quentin furrowed his brows. “What the hell are you playing at anyway?” he snarled. “What do you gain from coming to the school? Why did you _use_ –” he couldn't end the sentence. What was he going to say, anyway? Why did you use the video you said you would have made disappear? Or why did you use _me?_

Daken bit his lower lip. “Who said you could ever trust me, Quentin?” The words struck Quentin right in the chest. Daken let out a shaky laugh; it had a hint of despair in it. “This is all very tragic, but unless you want me to die in your arms as a finale we'll have to postpone.”

“What are you –”

Daken slid down, falling against him, and Quentin caught him instinctively.

“All right, no _games_ ,” snapped Quentin, “Answer me –”

But Daken was humming, fingers grasping Quentin's shirt. “You're so warm, Quentin.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Quentin blurted out, exasperated. “Quit the act –”

“I think – I may have a mild concussion?” Daken's eyes rolled back in his head and he just went slack.

Quentin stared down at him, feeling something wet on his own fingers, that were pressed against Daken's back. Chilled to the bone, he looked up at the the shelves against which he had sent Daken. There was red on the glass – blood on the edged, splintered bookshelves. It was _blood_ that was trickling down Daken's neck and wetting Quentin's fingers.

And Daken wasn't –

– he wasn't _healing_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Logan touched the nape of his own neck. “Yes. That one.” He pointed at Daken. Daken reached to touch the same spot on his own neck; when he looked at his hand, there was blood on his fingertips. Oh. Of course.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

“I want to heal you, pretty sweet,  
I'll throw rose petals at your feet;  
I'll spend eternity comparing all my poetry to yours.  
I want to see love through your eyes:  
You'll never have to compromise.  
I'd give up all my fame to fight your demons and your bloody wars.”

Emilie Autumn – _Liar_

 

 

_Daken found himself on the lawn of the Jean Grey School. Strange, he thought. He had been in Japan just a second ago; he had been – doing what? He walked across the lawn. It was night; there was a stream. But there wasn't a stream near the school, was there? There were headstones, too. Many, many headstones. He walked between the river and the headstones. There was a wooden bridge; he crossed it, and there was someone on the other side, among the cherry trees and cherry blossoms. Hair loose, she stood in front of the house. She was waiting for him, she would always wait for him, even now as he stopped on the bridge and found himself staring down at the water, down, down –_

“ _That was a nasty hit,” said a voice behind him. Startled, Daken whipped around._

“ _Hit?”_

_Logan touched the nape of his own neck. “Yes. That one.” He pointed at Daken. Daken reached to touch the same spot on his own neck; when he looked at his hand, there was blood on his fingertips. Oh. Of course._

_And then he threw his head back and laughed. “I'm hallucinating_ you? _This is priceless.”_

_Logan shrugged. “Maybe you miss me.”_

_Still laughing, Daken turned to watch the water again. But no – no, he was back on the lawn, and the river was nowhere in sight. He sighed._

_Logan was sitting on the grass. “I must admit, son, I can't understand what you're doing.”_

_Daken smirked. “Whenever have you managed to?”_

_Logan looked up at him. “Never.”_

“ _That's right.”_

“ _But right now I'm just a figment of your imagination. That means_ you _don't understand what you're doing. And you summoned my face to tell you this, because I've never understood you.”_

_Daken brought his bloody fingers to his lips. “Don't try to be clever, Logan, it's upsetting.”_

“ _Are you seriously going to have an argument with_ yourself _just because I wear this face? Should I – ah – wait.” Logan tried to claw his face away. The air rippled and for a second his hair was longer and gray, and Daken felt a sharp pain where the glass had penetrated his neck._

“ _Stop it,” he said quietly, and Logan looked up at him._

“ _So why did you do it?”_

“ _Why did I do what?”_

“ _Everything was set and you tried to send him away. Why?”_

“ _I don't know.”_

“ _Do you know what would have happened if Maiko had contacted you and he had already been gone?”_

“ _I don't_ know _.”_

“ _Oh,_ I _know,” Logan said, but he wasn't Logan anymore. He was Romulus, naked and muscular, long hair covering his shoulders. “It seems you haven't understood your lesson.”_

_Daken took a step back. “You have no power. You're dead. You're –”_

“ _I'm you.” Romulus sneered. “Here and now, anyway. Quod sum eris.”_

“ _No!” Daken snarled._

“ _My beautiful boy.” Romulus shook his head. “Don't deny it. Fixation, that's all it is. Useful, yes. But it's a double-edged weapon, suicidal if you couple it with sentiment. I thought I taught you long ago that no one cares.”_

“ _You were lying.”_

“ _Of course I was. However else would I have managed to keep you? My brilliant, beautiful boy.”_

“ _I'm not yours.”_

“ _Oh, but you are. Deep inside, always and forever. You're mine. You're rotten. You corrupt everything you touch. Have you seen what you've done?” Romulus was stroking his cock, a leer on his face. “That was a work of art.”_

“ _I didn't want to –”_

“ _Of course you did. You can keep telling yourself that, if you want, but you did.”_

“ _I didn't. I'll fix it. I'll make it right.”_

“Oh? _” Romulus cocked an eyebrow, and laughed. Daken was a child, a tiny child lost in the grass, lost between Romulus' thighs. “You can't even fix yourself.”_

_He tried to escape but there was nowhere to go. Romulus was a void, a void that would always devour him, no matter where he went._

“ _The dragon is a symbol,” said Akihira, “He has power only because you give power to him.”_

_Daken turned his head and saw him, saw him standing tall in the grass, light hakama brushing Daken's cheek. “Otousan,” escaped his lips._

_Romulus laughed. “You killed him, remember?”_

“ _No, I didn't. I_ didn't. _”_

“ _You did.” Romulus loomed over him, above him. “You know your love is rotten. It can only destroy.”_

“No _.”_

“ _You love your children, my son,” said Akihira. He bent to clasp Daken's shoulder, and there was love in his gesture. Not that other love, that rotten love. “Your love isn't rotten.”_

_Romulus snatched him away. “It's rotten. Everything you touch withers. Better use it, no?”_

“ _I won't use it.”_

“ _Oh yes you will. It's in your blood. I've encoded it into your brain, I've carved it into your cells –”_

“ _I said no!” Daken shouted, and he was shouting at Maiko –_

 _Romulus laughed, and laughed, and laughed. “I know what you're terrified of, boy. You're terrified that he is_ right _. You're terrified that's all it_ was _, all it ever_ will be _.”_

“ _Even if it were to be –” Daken said, and caught himself._ What _had he been about to say?_

“ _Oh?” Romulus laughed again. “Are you so eager to have a new master?”_

“ _It wouldn't be –”_

“ _Use him before he uses you.”_

“ _No.”_

“ _I didn't teach you to be this stupid, boy. I taught you to –”_

“ _You taught me to be dead.” Daken snarled, “A dead thing, a puppet whose strings you could cut when it pleased you. But I'm alive now. I am alive, and you – you are dead.”_

_Romulus was withering. “No.”_

“ _You're_ dead! _” Daken screamed, and a dragon surged out of the river, and swallowed Romulus whole. Daken laughed, and laughed, and laughed, laughed in relief as the dragon slithered through the grass towards him. Water shone on its scales, and it was a thing of power, a thing of beauty, and it had freed him._

“You _freed yourself, son, not the dragon. The dragon is a symbol,” said Akihira._

“ _But_ I _am the dragon, father,” Daken said, and he opened his eyes._

 

* * *

 

He lay in a bed, in a room walled with machines of various kinds. His head hurt; he tried to move, but he was restrained. He caught many scents – he knew those scents. At least a couple of them. It appeared he was in the X-Men's company, maybe even in their school already.

He knew Quentin wouldn't have just abandoned him bleeding in his home.

One scent came through stronger than the others.

“Broo?” he called. His voice sounded weak to his own ears.

“Oh, you're awake. Good.” Daken tried to move his head in the direction of the voice, but the movement sent jolts of pain from his neck through his head. He hissed in pain. “Oh, no, no,” Broo said, alarmed, “Don't move.” _More and more it appears I_ didn't _think this through._

The Brood appeared in his line of vision, and for a while busied himself with checking Daken's IV and other things Daken couldn't see. When it became evident that Broo wasn't going to talk, Daken tried again to speak.

“I'm restrained.”

“Yes.” Broo adjusted his spectacles on his nose and threw him a sideways glance as he patted the covers even. It was a coddling, annoying gesture. “Of course. You're working with Mystique.”

If only they knew the truth to all this. Daken rolled his eyes inwardly. He actually thought it might be better to come clean about this as soon as possible. He _had_ already expressed his doubts.

“Mystique is a foreign head of state,” Daken managed to articulate. His head was pulsing, and there was a light, annoying pressure on his skull. How long had he been out, exactly? The force of the collision had been violent. Had the ploy even worked? Maybe it hadn't. Maybe the declaration had been rejected, even if it appeared unlikely.

“Yes. Making you the equivalent of an ambassador.” Broo stood at the bed's side. “That's the only reason we haven't sent you to rot yet.” He clenched his jaw, and for a moment he appeared every inch the member of the savage alien race whose genetic traits he shared; for a moment, Daken feared for his life. This was a predator, a real predator whose body had evolved in outer space, and his scent clearly marked that he was furious.

But the gentle soul Daken knew the Brood possessed appeared to win the battle with the predator, and Broo unclenched his jaw. He disappeared from Daken's side for a moment, and when he returned he held a tablet. “So. How do you feel?”

“How long –”

“Oh, just two days.” Broo waved a hand. “Please let me work. How do you feel?”

Two days? Better than nothing, he figured. “My neck hurts.”

Broo nodded. “Could you be more specific?”

“What are you doing?”

“I'm a doctor and you're my patient. I swore an oath. Now, I suppose you're accustomed to pain; would you please rate the pain you are experiencing on a relatable scale, please?”

Daken had to think about that. It was true, he was accustomed to pain far beyond what he was experiencing at the moment – but he supposed he ought help the alien out nonetheless. “Three out of ten.”

“Mh-mh. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Broo nodded and wrote on his tablet, clawed fingers tapping lightly on the screen. It must be customized, Daken thought, not to be destroyed by his nails. “In what area?”

“From the splenius cervicis up to and through the rectus capitis, up to the Atlas,” he said with detachment. The more precise he was, the better.

“Oh, _dear._ Thank you.” Broo tapped quickly. He wasn't looking at Daken when he said, quietly, “If those splinters had gone just a little deeper you'd be permanently paralized.”

Daken had thought it was a concussion, nothing more. He was accustomed to quickly determining damage and making decisions based on that; how had he miscalculated that badly? The splinters of glass in his nape hadn't even seemed that many; yes, he had known right away he hadn't much time before fainting, but – moving had probably worsened the situation.

He had kept silent for too long; Broo looked at him. “You aren't disputing my diagnosis. I gather that you already know that your healing factor isn't working properly.”

That had him snort softly. “I wear _reading glasses_.”

“ _Oh_.” Broo tapped at the tablet again, a look of vague surprise on his face.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

“Updating your medical files.”

“My _medical files?_ ”

“If you're set on staying here for long, I need your data.” Broo shook his head. “Are you able to tell me what exactly is wrong with your healing factor?”

Oh, wasn't it such a juicy story? “What's wrong is that, once upon a time, I took a drug that I shouldn't have taken. I'm a cautionary tale. Don't do drugs, kids.” Amazing, really, how he managed to joke about it, after all this time.

“Ahhh –” Broo swung his fingers over the screen quickly, scanning it. “The Heat?”

“So when you said you're updating my medical files you meant you still have them from _eighteen years_ ago?” It was quite amusing. “Yes. The Heat.”

“Mh-mh. The composition of the drug is quite fascinating.” His eyes scanned the screen; he _did_ seem interested. “And – how is your healing factor affected precisely?”

“It still works, but at a slower pace. Fatal wounds won't heal, in theory. I haven't checked, quite obviously. There's no real pattern in what it can still do and what it can't. I won't be your _project_ , doctor,” he found himself compelled to add in a snarl. He had no intention of letting himself be drawn into ridiculous hopes again. He had made a mistake, and now he had to live with the consequences. He had an expiration date, now, and it was coming closer and closer, and it was nobody's fault but his.

“Well,” Broo adjusted his glasses, “As fascinating a project as this might be, I'm sure you already had people work on it. If they didn't find a solution –”

“I'm sure you wouldn't capitulate this easily if I was your friend,” Daken jabbed with a sweet smile.

“I thought you didn't want to be my project?”

“That doesn't make it less true.”

“You're not dying.”

“I am.”

“Well, yes. You're dying as _I'm_ dying, as _everybody_ is.” Decay of the flesh, he meant. There was a time that thought had tormented Daken. A time he had cursed himself in more languages he recalled he knew. But that _wasn't_ what Daken had meant. Broo continued, “What I meant is, if you were in the _process_ of dying, I would of course help you, regardless of what I think of you.”

“So sweet of you.”

“It's what I've already done, too. You were in a dreadful, dreadful state. Quentin –” Broo caught himself, a flash of fury again in his eyes, leaving Daken to wonder about what state _Quentin_ was in. His stomach churned. “But I think the healing factor kicked in once I put everything in order: I thought you would have stayed in a coma.”

“I'm sure that would have been so much better for you all.”

“See, _that_ is true.”

Daken laughed. He had missed the Brood; he _had_ , truly. Their nocturnal conversations about literature had been interesting, and had permitted little Hiro to survive those first weeks. Broo _had_ helped him, had distracted Hiro from his nightmares with his long rants and pointed remarks. He was caustic, something that, at the time, he hadn't been showing much in class. It appeared he had changed in that regard too.

“So, do you think you can handle talking with more people?”

“You're _asking?_ I thought I was your prisoner. I'm _restrained_.”

Broo shook his head. “You're my _patient._ You won't be interrogated if you can't handle it. And you're _restrained_ because I didn't want you to wake up and move while it's still best for you _not_ to,” he pointed at Daken's head. In that moment, Daken realised that not only did it hurt, but it was wrapped with bandages. That was what the pressure he had noticed earlier had been. And around him were cables that, from the angle at which they lay, appeared to be attached to his head.

“I thought I was restrained because I'm working with Mystique.”

“That's _Wolverine's_ reason.” Daken winced; he couldn't help it. It was strange to hear that name again. What did the reaction say about him, truly? Did he really care about it that much? It was just a _name_.

He had _seethed_ when he had heard Jubilation Lee was taking the name. It wasn't hers to be taken, it wasn't anyone's. It was _Logan's_.

Broo seemed to notice his discomfort and cleared his throat. “So. I'll have her and someone else come, if you can handle it. No more than four people for now, I think. Is it acceptable?”

“Yes.”

Broo disappeared from his side and Daken heard him move in the room. It appeared to be the alien's laboratory; they hadn't risked putting him on his own in the infirmary. _Permanently paralized._ Daken felt a shiver run down his spine. It was one thing to know and accept one's mortality; it was quite another to face the thought of something that heinous. And Daken had _gambled_ when he had sent his men away; had he lost his bet, he would have remained all alone in his house for too many hours for something to be done once someone would notice; perhaps he would have died, even. Thankfully, Quentin had called for help – but Daken knew he _shouldn't_ have been taking those sorts of risks. Not anymore. Had he been unconsciously punishing himself? What the _hell_ had he been thinking, really? He hadn't been thinking straight, that much was clear. Self-sabotage was in his blood, had always been, but this wasn't it. He wasn't behaving rationally. Even his outburst at Maiko hadn't been rational. This situation he had put himself into wasn't rational.

He caught other scents and braced himself for what was about to come. He had to think about Maiko and Eike now, help them out in this foolish project of theirs.

It was Jubilation Lee – he _refused_ to call her Wolverine – and Iceman, and Okonkwo. Broo had them all line up in front of his bed, so that Daken could see them without moving his head, and then settled beside Daken. Lee had a scowl on her face.

“So what are you doing here?” she started off, hands on the bed. He could appreciate the disrespect for personal boundaries; it always paid off, after all.

“I believe I'm here to receive medical attention?” Daken tried to mold his features into something innocent, but he couldn't quite feel his muscles right. Perhaps it was the quantity of morphine still running through his veins.

She scoffed. “ _Here_. What's Mystique's plan?”

“Wasn't she _dead?_ ” Iceman blurted out.

“Oh, you know how sly she is,” the smirk, at least, he still got right even if drugged. He had to stick to this till he knew what they would do. “Her plan? It's all in the light of day. She only wants to have a sanctuary for mutants.”

“As if we would believe that.”

“That's _always_ been her only plan. You do know that, don't you?” Daken almost felt the need to _defend_ her. He was getting old. “Regardless of what you thought of her methods.”

“Fine.” Lee shrugged. “Let's say I believe you. What are _you_ doing here?”

“I'm your liaison, aren't I? For a peaceful cooperation beneficial to all parties involved, with only the well-being of mutants around the world in mind.”

“You're here to _spy_ for her.”

“I'm here to make this easy. A contact, nothing more. The channel through which you can contact her and she can contact you. Don't tell me you are against this. Don't tell me you are against a sanctuary. None of you ever opposed her over the years – you helped her sometimes, even.”

“And she set us up, countless times,” Lee scoffed. “Do forgive us if we're not ready to throw ourselves into her warm embrace. Even if she hadn't been so theatrical about it –” her jaw clenched.

“ _Theatrical_ was what she needed. Something to have the leaders of the world pay attention, something to make it _impossible_ to ignore her.” He looked from face to face. “Don't tell me you don't want this. Don't tell me you aren't thinking about that girl that died. Don't tell me you don't want mutants to be safe. That's a lie, and that's the only possible reason for opposing her. She isn't doing anything _wrong_.”

“My, what a passionate politician.”

“Well, I try.” He didn't fucking _care_ about this. He was doing this for Maiko and Eike. Maiko had been working for years, she had worked so hard, and she had seen an opportunity and seized it, as he had taught her to. He would have sold himself, if necessary.

“It's all so beautiful, I might believe you.” Lee bared her long vampire teeth, and leaned down, hands on the covers. “Too bad you achieved this with _blackmail_. Tell us what you did to Quentin.”

 _Quentin_. The guilt surged up his throat.

No. He had done what he had to, he had done his best, he had done what he _could_. This could have been so, so much _worse_ for Quentin.

“I'm sure he already told you? I found him, took him home, had him sleep his binge off. Nothing more.”

She snarled, and Iceman took her by the arm to restrain her; she had seemed about to jump on Daken. He felt the surge of annoyance in the room spike up; he had to tread carefully.

“Have I lied?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Broo said, “That's what he said, too.”

“Then?”

“You manipulated him,” blurted out Okonkwo. “You – you used your pheromones, didn't you? You had him come with you, and then –”

“And then _what?_ I didn't do anything to him.” _Not now, anyway. I ruined everything, but not now_. “Are you seriously thinking I've done something to the Phoenix? The _cosmic power?_ Quentin is more than capable of defending himself. He put me in this bed, didn't he? He almost got me _paralized_.”

Iceman winced at that and had the grace to look abashed. “You did something.”

“Yes, I did.” At their looks of rage or triumph, he added, “Honestly? I _saved your asses_. You should be grateful. I avoided an international incident of magnifying proportions.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, of course!” Okonkwo scoffed.

 _Yes. As ridiculous as it sounds, yes._ “Of course not. I did it to blackmail all of you, of course. Why else?”

Lee was eyeing him with disgust. “I sure as hell would want to see this terrible video and ascertain the threat it poses.”

“No, you don't.” No one could want to see it. It was disgusting, the things Quentin had been saying shocking, and it had been a damn miracle Quentin hadn't _burnt that place to the ground_. Daken had never thought he could see someone so low, _Quentin_ so low; and he had seen men crawl and grovel, he had seen the scum of the earth. “You really don't.” Something in his voice broke, maybe, because a spike of surprise and perplexity came from Broo. Daken steeled himself. “And you'll never have to, if you cooperate. It's not that heavy a burden, is it? It's a mutant _utopia_ , like that island you occupied for some time, isn't it? You should _really_ be grateful.”

“You're a fucking bastard,” hissed Okonkwo.

“ _Aye_ , I'm such a bastard, really. But what can I do? I'm born this way.”

“If you think we'll just agree with this –” began Lee.

“We already _have_.” Iceman reminded her. “Can't we give this a shot?”

“ _Really?_ ” Lee whipped on her heels to look at him. “I can't believe this. Don't we _ever_ learn?”

“That's your problem, to be fair,” Daken provided, and was rewarded with an annoyed glance from Lee. “You tend not to. But this isn't a _ploy_. She honestly, truly only wants to have Madripoor back to what it was. I'm sure you can appreciate that.”

“I don't _want_ you in this school, Daken,” Lee snarled. “Even if I trusted Mystique to have no other ideas, you aren't the best candidate to be a _public face_. We can't have you here –”

“But you have to have me, don't you? You agreed, _live_. _Quentin_ agreed live.”

“Only because you _forced_ him to!” Okonkwo's voice was shrill.

This would be a standstill, he knew that. And they were right. He had, in a way, forced him to.

“Even if I had? You have a chance to get something right, finally. And why exactly am I not a good candidate? I don't exist. Are you afraid people will link me to that colossal disaster of Osborn's? Or to the New York bombing? That was almost _twenty_ years ago, and I'm very different from then.”

“Are you playing dumb?” Lee's eyebrows shot up. “You caused the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier incident!”

 _Ah, yes. That_. “I had nothing to do with that.”

Iceman crossed his arms. “We –” he hesitated. “We know it was a difficult moment, Daken. We understand why you did it.” There was pity on his face. “Some of us were even –”

“You don't know anything,” Daken interrupted him, voice level, and the man winced. “Don't you dare. You can't even begin to comprehend. It's insulting of you to think you can.” Commanding such silence wasn't what he had wanted to do, not at the price of using Eike's situation. He hated himself for this. “They hurt my child, yes. But I had nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s demise.”

“I don't think you understand, Daken.” Lee's features, for a moment, softened. “What S.H.I.E.L.D. did to your child was disgusting. We're glad the agency got shot down. But we can't condone the death of so many innocent –”

“ _Innocent?_ ” Daken snarled, straining against his bonds, something he shouldn't have done because a sharp pain hit him on the nape of his neck. He yelped.

Broo was at his side in a moment. “Please stay put. You can't move, not for a while still.”

Daken ignored him. He kept still, but fixated his gaze on Lee. “Innocent? Do repeat, please.”

“That's not important –”

“No, I'm really interested in hearing how _innocent_ those animals were. Do tell.”

“That's not important right _now_.” She crossed her arms. “The Avengers are here for you.”

He stared at her. “You sold me to them?”

“We didn't –” Iceman began, but Lee held up a hand to shush him.

“This is all political, you understand. Even if we wanted to cooperate with Mystique, we can't harbor a terrorist. It undermines everything else. It _jeopardizes_ Alison's run. I'm sure Mystique knows that, and you too. How could you think this would resolve any other way? Someone was bound to come for you the moment you revealed yourself to the world.”

_I'm ahead of you. Of course we knew. Of course we have a solution._

“I had nothing to do with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s demise.”

“You can't keep saying that and think we'll believe you! And it's not us you got to convince.”

“No, I have to convince the Avengers, right? Have them come in, then.” Okonkwo disappeared from his line of sight.

“This is highly irregular,” Broo said, “I said he can't see more than four people –”

Two new scents in the room. “Forgive our intrusion, doctor.” It was a male voice. Ah – it was difficult to keep track of who was an Avenger, these days. As the man came closer, Daken recognised the half-skrull Hulkling. “We won't stay for long.”

Broo surprised Daken by positioning himself in front of his bed. “He can't be moved.”

“We'll take care –”

“I highly doubt it. I said he can't be _moved_.”

“Really? That's how's it going to be?” A woman came into Daken's line of sight. She was dressed as a Spider-Woman; considering how many of them there were running around, determining her identity was a problem. Corazon, maybe? She had a Spanish accent. “You should make up your mind. Do you want to give him to us or shall we fight?”

Superheroes flexing their muscles. Daken would have rolled his eyes, but maybe it was better to keep a meek demeanor. Being this helpless, tied to a bed, unable to move, was unnerving. Fortunately, he hadn't to rely on the X-Men to resolve the situation – even if it was interesting to know who would be willing to defend him: Iceman was grimacing, and Lee, despite her obvious distrust of him, reeked of irritation ever since the Avengers had entered the room. It was obvious the delicate balance of power was more intriguing than he had thought by seeing it from the outside.

“This can be resolved easily,” he said serenely. They all turned to look at him. “There's no reason for you to attack the X-Men.”

“Will you come with us?”

“Dear, no. I can't be moved, you've heard the _doctor._ And I don't even know on what _grounds_ you want to collect me.”

The Spider-Woman crossed her arms. “You're accused of acts of terrorism against the United States.”

“Ah, I see. I'll need my lawyer, then.” He quite thoroughly enjoyed the shock that sprung into everybody's bodylanguage – the narrowing of Lee's eyes, Hulkling's eyebrows shooting up, Broo's wings jolting.

“Your lawyer?”

“Isn't it customary for the accused to have a lawyer? Or do you want to apprehend me without one? Highly, highly irregular.” Daken clicked his tongue.

“Don't tell me.” Spider-Woman was relatively unfazed. “Maiko Arakawa?”

“Well, yes.”

“Of course.” Lee rolled her eyes. “Of _course_.” She was beginning to understand, but she was still some steps behind.

Spider-Woman kept her arms crossed. “Well let's have her here, then.”

Nothing of his possessions were present – Daken hoped everything was still in place at home, he'd have hated to lose some of the things that were there, memories of a lifetime – so Broo produced his own cell phone. Under Daken's instructions, he called Maiko's personal number – she would, of course, change it once the call was over – and held the cell phone near Daken's ear.

“Arakawa. Who is this?” Maiko answered in English, with a sleepy voice; wondering what time it was and where was she, Daken spoke immediately in Japanese.

“ _Arakawa-san. It's Akki. I find myself in need of your legal expertise_.” This would tell her everything she needed to know.

“ _Oh! Don't worry, Akki, everything's set already. Where are you?_ ” Daken wondered whether she already knew the state he was in or if she was in for an unpleasant surprise.

“At the Jean Grey School,” he said, speaking in English for the benefit of the assembled heroes. He needn’t have, really; they would’ve had whatever he said translated, to discover what Maiko had said, if nothing else – and perhaps it would take a while if Broo hadn’t had the presence of mind to activate a recorder, but, inevitably, they would find out what had been spoken between them, and they would find nothing incriminating.This was an overprecaution, of course; with Laura returning from space in a scant few days – a beneficial coincidence – Maiko’s true identity wouldn’t remain under wraps for much longer. Maiko knew that; she had decided to act anyway. “The Avengers appear eager to arrest me, Arakawa-san.”

“I'm coming. Have them give my phone the authorization for emergency teleportation.”

The complex code override for it was achieved in little more than a minute, and soon Maiko was in the now _really_ overcrowded room, immaculate and professional in her business suit. Her eyes narrowed to slits when she caught sight of him, but she bowed deeply. From her casual posture when she straightened up, Daken knew that the situation with the X-Men was, even if shaky, mostly settled. The only problem was him; and soon it would resolve, too.

“What is my client accused of?” Sharp and to the point.

Hulkling answered. “Of the attack on and destruction of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, the consequent destruction of a government facility, and the consequent casualties, roughly eight years ago.”

“Do you have proof or do you merely want to bring him in for questioning?” Maiko slowly positioned herself beside the bed.

“I ignore that. We –”

Maiko snorted softly. “I'm sorry, I'm going to stop you right there. I don't think you people really know what the US government wants him for. Fortunately, you're sparing me the _nuisance_ of requesting a meeting with the Defence.” She placed her case on his bed, opening it to produce a file. “Here. A signed confession by my client Raven Darkhölme. She admits to what you are accusing my client Daken Akihiro of, and gives details only the attacker could know.”

Her statement fell on stunned silence, and nobody moved to take the documents. Daken's position was really optimal to enjoy the shock on the faces of those gathered and the light of comprehension in Broo's red eyes. He wondered how the X-Men would take this _later._ But he knew, by now, that in front of the Avengers they would present a united front.

Lee was the first to move; she caught the documents and proffered them to the wide-eyed Hulkling. The man flipped through the pages.

“You'll find everything's in order,” Maiko said.

As he scanned the documents, Spider-Woman lifted her chin at Maiko.

“So we'll have to apprehend Mystique, then.”

“Oh, no. I'm afraid that won't be possible.” Maiko modulated her voice as to give just a hint of condescension, but not too much. Ah, she was a master at this. All her hard work was paying off splendidly. “If you'd read instead of jumping to conclusions, you'd know – but I'm just a bureaucrat, what do I know?” She let out a silly laugh. “The mighty heroes of the Earth never think before acting, do they?” She clicked her case shut with professional precision. “No, I'm afraid the destruction of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier was an act of war against the United States, a war the United States had _declared_. It was done in defence, therefore –”

“The United States never declared war on Madripoor!” Spider-Woman said in a rush. “What are you trying to –”

“I'm not _trying_ to do anything. I refer to the kidnapping, torture and rape of the minor Eike Darkhölme at the orders of a General of the United States.” It was eerie, Daken mused, how Maiko managed to keep calm in saying this. Had it been up to him, he would have become emotional over this, and his voice would have broken; a sign, perhaps, that he really was getting old. But not her voice. She was, truly, his daughter. His chest swelled with pride. “The minor was a Madripoor citizen, and the child of the Governor of Madripoor. Furthermore, an attempt was made to take my client's life.” He knew, from the spikes of surprise coming from the Avengers, that they hadn't known of this. “It was an act of war, and was treated as such by my client. She even took great care to avoid civilian victims. Commendable, really.”

Again, Spider-Woman was the first to recompose herself. “I _remember_ the media coverage. The President was unaware of the existence of that facility –”

“Please.” Maiko waved her hands. “Are you really this gullible? America never landed on the moon, and Santa Claus exists.”

Spider-Woman ignored her. “It's not up to us. The President will have to decide, but warn Mystique that –”

“Yes, do bring him everything. I'm sure he'll want to be remembered as the President that condoned something this barbaric at the very beginning of his first term. I'm sure this would be so very beneficial to the candidate of his party,” Maiko added sweetly.

Hulkling was an interesting shade of crimson. Everyone in the room understood what was happening, or they would be idiots indeed.

They also had their hands _tied_.

“She'll have to pay for the death of all the innocents –”

“Did you mishear the words _kidnapping, torture and rape of a minor?_ ” Maiko snarled. She had snapped as he had. Hearing the word _innocents_ in relation to S.H.I.E.L.D. was horrifying, and salt in a wound still too fresh. “Dear God, and if a head of state were to be tried by other countries for an act of _self-defence_ , where would we be? Where would America be, too, I wonder?”

After this, it was a miracle the Avengers didn't cower in shame. Heroes. Daken had no interest in the little traumatic life re-evaluations that they were probably about to face, and thankfully they left. Daken doubted that they would return at all.

When they were gone, Lee addressed Maiko.

“You bought some time, maybe, but –”

“Oh, I believe you're underestimating the political repercussions of this on that vermin. He won't try to have either of my clients arrested again.”

“Maybe, but it's stretched at best. That attack was months after the kidnapping. Mystique wasn't the Governor anymore, Madripoor had reverted to its previous state –”

“Really?” Maiko cocked her head to the side. “Most curious. I have thousands of witnesses that claim Miss Darkhölme was still leading the country from the shadows at the time. After the attempt to take her life, would you blame her?”

“Yes, that. How did she survive?” Iceman interjected.

“I'm afraid that's her story to tell.” Ah. Right. So they meant to keep with this, at least for now. Daken sighed and Lee's eyes flickered to him, then returned to Maiko. Her features softened.

“Listen, Arakawa. Back out of this till you can. This is a dangerous game you're playing, and they – they will eat you alive.”

Maiko crossed her arms. “And I _already_ told you that your advice is unneded.”

“You don't know these people as we do. Mystique – and him – they swayed you with talks about equality, but they don't care –”

How sweet of her, in a way, to worry about the _fragile human_.

“Yes, him. That reminds me.” Maiko straightened her back. “Why is he tied like a common criminal? And what _happened_ to him?”

Broo cleared his throat. “He's merely tied for his own safety. The head trauma he suffered was severe, and he had to be kept still. Now his healing factor is taking care of the wounds, and I imagine that soon he'll be as good as new. Till that's done, though, I'd recommend him to stay tied.”

Maiko nodded politely. Daken couldn't see her face, but her shoulders were stiff. “And _what happened?_ ” She already knew; he knew it by the clenching and unclenching of her scarred hand.

Lee didn't try to make excuses. “A situation with Phoenix. Daken was accidentally slammed –”

“Oh, dear. A _situation?_ ” There was danger in Maiko's voice. “ _Accidentally?_ My. Should I have a _chat_ with Phoenix? Perhaps we should see if _another_ situation isn't clear to –”

“It was an _accident_ ,” came out of Daken's mouth. Lee started, eyebrows shooting up, and Maiko whipped on her high heels to look at him, shock in her eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“It was an accident,” Daken repeated. Well, it _had_ been. “His reaction was foreseeable. I should have thought of it. He didn't mean any damage.”

Maiko stared at him. “Are you sure –”

“Yes.” _Perhaps I should really decide on a course of action and stick with it instead of – of – what_ was he doing?

Maiko ran her hand over the covers, staring at him, then turned towards the assembled X-Men. “Excuse me. Could I have some moments alone with my father?”

She did so love her theatrics: trust her to convey information in the most direct way possible. Even so, the look of sheer _shock_ on their faces was delightful.

And then Lee snorted and threw her head back and _laughed_. Laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and when she calmed down there were tears of mirth in her eyes. “Of _course_. This was a family business since the beginning, wasn't it?”

Maiko shrugged.

“And now I see why Mystique trusted a human with this. It seemed too strange.” Daken couldn't understand if they were playing dumb or if they really were believing this. Maybe Mystique's continuous coming back from the dead over the years had left them relatively unfazed by this kind of revelation.

“So you see that your worries were unfounded, miss Lee.”

“Now, there's no need for _formalities_. If you insist on doing this, you can call me Wolver–”

“No, I don't think so,” Maiko jabbed. “If you'd rather I call you anything else, tell me, but I won't refer to you with your stolen codename.”

Lee blinked, taken aback. “My stolen –”

“I believe I asked for some time with my father. If you'd prefer, I may ask for a few moments alone with my client instead. I'm allowed those at least, aren't I?”

Her voice had become cold, and they left. Broo insisted that Daken shouldn't try to move, but then he left too. When they were alone, Maiko took a low-frequency disturber out of her pocket and kept it in her hand.

“Just in case,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him. “You don't think they have cameras in here, do you?”

“I don't know. It's Broo's laboratory; it could be without.”

Maiko nodded and stared at him for a moment. “You don't want to antagonize them so soon? That's why you said it was an accident?”

Daken sighed. “I have _no_ intention to antagonize them. It would lead nowhere, it would lead to problems for _you_. And it _was_ an accident.”

“But –”

“It was an accident, and that's the last I'll say on the matter, Maiko.”

“Otousan –” Maiko climbed on the bed, and sat at his feet, her legs bent to the side. She put her scarred hand on his leg. “You suffered _head trauma –_ ”

“It was an accident. What did you expect would happen? You saw him. He was a timebomb. Be grateful I'm alive.”

Maiko bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Well, this went well, all things considered.” She looked around. “You were right, it's much better than my original idea.”

“Making an enemy of the X-Men is never a smart move. I thought I'd taught you better.” The last sentence was so horribly similar to what Romulus used to tell him that Daken winced inwardly.

“Well, you were right. As always. And I _shudder_ to think what would have happened to you if I _had_ shown the video. I'm sorry. I put you in danger.” Maiko's other hand was tracing circles on the covers. She was distressed.

“Darling, no. It's all right.” He wanted to take her hand, but he couldn't move. “I'm fine. I'm too tough to be brought down by this,” he winked at her. She smiled thinly. “How's Eike holding up?”

“Pretty well, I think. He's excited.”

“Be careful.”

“I'm always careful, otousan.”

“I mean it. If something goes wrong, _tell the X-Men_. I'll cover you for now, but Laura is coming back, and she'll want to see him. You won't be able to pull this off on your own for long.”

“You think they'd cooperate?” Maiko appeared dubious. “If they knew?”

“You can try.”

“If I had leverage –” Maiko caught herself, and looked at him, and Daken knew that he had disappointed her, that he had _hurt_ her. “Otousan. When I accessed the server to make copies of the video, I found it was gone. It was deleted. It might as well have never existed.”

“Yes.” He couldn't look her in the eyes. But he had to. He owed it to her.

“Why?”

“You didn't need it. I deleted it as soon as it was clear that they would cooperate.”

“I _did_ need it, otousan. It was a goldmine. The things he did – God, when he threatened to possess them all!” She passed a hand through her hair. “And the things he said he would have forced them to do! The proof they're _hypocrites_ , the lot of them.”

Daken didn't want to think about that goddamn video anymore. He didn't want to think about the things Quentin had said, both in that pub and at home. He didn't want to think he had _betrayed_ Maiko and Eike when he had deleted that video, and he didn't want to think that he had planned something so _different_ for the next morning, he had meant to _talk_ with Quentin, clear this terrible mess up, and now it was all ruined. Rotten and ruined. At least he had managed to shield Quentin from the worst of it.

“They don't know it's gone.” His voice sounded level, and he wondered what Maiko would make of it. “You can always threaten to divulge it, if you feel the need for it. But you won't need to. They're sold, they only needed an excuse.”

“It's just –” Maiko squeezed his leg. “I see what you're saying. But it was an insurance. Now I have nothing. And what they could do to you –”

“They'll do nothing to me. Now you're overreacting.”

“I'd feel better if you were safe at home. I could have sent _anybody_ –”

“But this way I'll be useful to you.” Daken smiled. “Come here.” Gingerly, she settled beside him and rested her head on his chest. “I told you I'd always have your back.”

“I know.”

“Then let me help you from here.”

“But all your work...! Eighteen years is a lot, otousan. You can't throw it all out the window –”

“Who says I can't? I've kept things the same for so long. A bit of excitement was overdue.”

“I think that's your andropause speaking, otousan.” Maiko brushed her nose on his chest.

“Are you calling me old?”

“God forbid.” He felt the smile in her voice.

They settled into a comfortable silence, and he still hadn't truly answered her question. But she didn't ask again.

If only he could find the answer for himself first.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ “ _Maiko?_ ” There was alarm in Eike's voice, but for a moment all she could do was bring a hand to her mouth and muffle the little sobs coming in quick succession. She hadn't been prepared for this.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

“I must become a lion hearted girl;  
Ready for a fight  
Before I make the final sacrifice.

And in the spring I shed my skin  
And it blows away with the changing wind;  
The waters turn from blue to red  
As towards the sky I offer it.”

Florence + the Machine – _Rabbit Heart_

 

 

Eike didn't even give her time to sit down.

As soon as she returned, mind reeling, Maiko heard her brother's voice asking: “How was father?”

That was the last straw – Maiko didn't even turn to look at him, but fell into a chair and felt a sob fall from her mouth.

“ _Maiko?_ ” There was alarm in Eike's voice, but for a moment, all she could do was bring a hand to her mouth to muffle the little sobs as they came in quick succession. She hadn't been prepared for this. Oh, she had thought she was; but seeing her otousan on that bed, _restrained_ , harmless, head bandaged and covered in EEG electrodes, he that had always seemed untouchable, had triggered panic in her. She had resorted to the armor she had forged under his guidance – she had succeeded in keeping collected. She couldn't help but wonder if he _had_ noticed the cracks.

But here, with Eike, little Eike who needed her to be strong for him, her strong front had failed. It wasn't right.

So she composed herself, raised her head and tried to smile.

Eike had waited for her on the couch instead of sleeping. It struck Maiko that he must be dead tired, but the worry was evident on his face. Really, who could blame him? When they had discovered what had transpired at home, it had taken every inch of Maiko's own self-control not to storm into the Jean Grey School and lay down threats there and then. That was, of course, also when they had discovered the video's sudden, inexplicable absence.

Eike was still looking at her expectantly, hunched on the sofa with wild hair and wide eyes. Maiko shook the dark thoughts away.

“He's fine.” Eike's shoulders relaxed visibly. “He's... he's –” Again alarm on Eike's face; _damn_ it, Maiko thought, she had to keep it together. No hysterics. She reached down to remove her high heels. “He's restrained, because any accidental movement could affect his healing –”

“His healing.”

“He suffered from head trauma. I think he'd just woken up. He's – I swear, he's fine. It's just –” Maiko cleared her throat. “He was so pale, and his voice was so faint –”

Eike leaned towards her. “What did he say?” he said urgently, “How does he feel?”

“Well, he seemed assertive enough. And he didn't seem concerned.”

“Then he's fine.” With a sigh, Eike fell back on the couch. “He knows his own body, Maiko.”

“Yes. You're right, of course.” _But his healing factor is_ not _reliable. He knows that_.

“Head trauma, you said?”

“They weren't very precise. Otousan said it was an accident.” Eike grimaced and she mimicked the gesture. True, they hadn't been there, so they couldn't possibly know. They had been just so worried over it, that they had thought immediately that Phoenix had _attacked_ otousan.

“But what did the doctors say? Was there at least one? _Are_ they taking care of him?”

“Yes. The Brood.” Maiko pulled her legs up and folded them beneath her on the chair. “He said there was nothing to worry about.”

Eike didn't answer right away; he seemed, almost, to shrink, retreating further back into the couch, and his vacant eyes and the way he clutched at his upper arms, nails digging into his flesh, betrayed what he was thinking about. Maiko waited for him to calm down on his own time.

Eike spoke after a few moments. He wasn't looking at her. “That one is a good person. A good doctor. He's nice. If he said papa will be fine, then papa will be fine.”

Maiko nodded. Of course Eike had good memories of the Brood.

Eike looked at her again. “And it's settled?” he said with a light voice, “The rest?”

“Yes.” Maiko allowed herself a satisfied sigh. “I think he's safe. And you are too. They wouldn't risk jeopardizing their candidate's run any further than they already have.” Eike grinned viciously. Otousan hadn't been enthusiastic about this – he had been downright worried – but even he had eventually admitted that it was an intelligent plan. But he had always preached caution, nonetheless. “Otousan thinks we should come clean to the X-Men.”

“Mh-mh.” Eike dismissed the information, his tone that of a distracted man. Maiko privately thought that otousan might have a point – it would make the way much smoother. Eike continued: “Oh, so you _did_ get some time alone with him! That's a relief.”

“Yes, he's not a _prisoner_. There's that, at least.” Maiko grimaced again, remembering how tightly he was bound to that bed. _For his own good._ They could trust the Brood's word, surely? And otousan had seemed unconcerned.

“So. Uh.” Eike cocked his head. “So what did he say?”

Maiko sighed and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. “He – he lied to me.” Silence. “He looked straight at me – right into my eyes – and lied to me.” She removed her palms from her eyes; she looked at Eike. He was staring at her, incredulity in his eyes, biting at his lower lip.

And the worst part – the worst part was that she had _seen it_ in otousan's eyes. They had been shifting, uncomfortable. She had _seen the lie_ in his eyes, when she _shouldn't_ have been able to. That had scared her more than anything else.

Because it shouldn't have been possible. How did he think he was going to survive at the school if he was no longer capable of lying without the lie manifesting itself in his eyes, his body language? Or perhaps it had had more to do with the fact that he had been lying to her, his daughter. He had _never_ lied to her before. _Never_. Maybe that was why he had been so sloppy. There was no need to worry for him, was there? Oh, but he was all _alone_ at the school –

“What did he say?”

“He – he said that he removed the video once he was sure they were going to cooperate.” Maiko shook her head. “Even if we hadn't known for a fact that he had no _time_ to do that, he should know the accesses are _shown_ on the server.” The video had been deleted in the morning – many hours after their phonecall, a hour before the press conference, when she was busy and couldn't check – when she wouldn't even _think_ to check.

She hadn't thought to check because she had agreed _not_ to use that video; he had insisted, he had been adamant, he had been furious. He had _shouted_ at her. When she had called him to outline her plan she hadn't expected the storm he went on to unleash upon her.

And then otousan had gone and constructed a new plan for them, right on the spot. It had been shaky at best, but he had insisted on it being safer – and, after mulling it over, Maiko had agreed that it _did_ seem to err more on the side of sensible. After a while of his convoluted speaking, she had decided to trust him on it. He was older and more experienced; what she was trying to pull off called for firmer, deeper roots. It _would_ have been better, had they been able to hold off for just a little longer – that, they had agreed on. Not every piece had been in place. The death of that poor girl had forced her hand – and, even if some foundations were not so strong as they could have been, it had provided the push that Maiko had been waiting for.

So, sure. She _hadn't_ intended on using the video, even if she and Eike had been unable to believe their luck upon finding it on the server – it was a powerful weapon for their arsenal. But otousan had made her _swear_ not to use it. Threaten to use it, yes; actually use it, no. The final word was to be his, anyway, because the server belonged to _him_ , not Maiko – and she was glad she hadn't, because if Phoenix had so weak a grasp on his powers that he had hurt otousan by _accident_ just because he had been blackmailed with the mere prospect, how would he have reacted if Maiko _had_ shown the video at the press conference as she had intended to? He might have even _killed_ otousan. The thought made her shudder.

No, Maiko was very, very glad she had heeded otousan's advice and possibly saved his life in the process. What had her still in a confused, shocked haze was that otousan had just straight-up lied to her.

She realised she had been staring blankly at Eike as she worked through her thoughts – and Eike was staring back in return, chin on his knees, fingers drumming relentlessly as he hugged his legs. “Do you think –” he began, pausing briefly to bite his lower lip, “Do you think he's in on it?”

“Who?” she asked, even as she understood.

“Phoenix. It would explain why father insisted that much; maybe when you called him he had just struck a bargain with Phoenix. He did go pick him up from there, after all – what if Phoenix _himself_ asked him to get rid of the witnesses?” He grinned. “ _Ruthless_. If the circumstances had been different, I may have _liked_ him. And maybe that's why father got so angry, your stunt could have ruined whatever he gained.”

“It would explain why he insisted on being our liaison, too,” agreed Maiko. “Maybe he has something to do there?” Now, this made sense.

“Yes, and Phoenix had that reaction because he had thought he was safe, and then you came up and blackmailed him _again_.” Eike stretched his arms up and grinned. “He must have been pissed.”

That – _kind_ of made sense. Otousan _hadn't_ even answered when she had asked him _why_ he had deleted the video; at this point, it appeared more and more possible that he had only deleted it from the server, perhaps even in front of Phoenix to have him believe it, and then he had saved it somewhere else. The X-Men clearly thought the video still existed, though, so maybe Phoenix was lying to them? Layers and layers; it was starting to get interesting. What had otousan demanded of Phoenix? Now, a blackmail she could understand; and she felt relieved, too, because that meant otousan was still more than capable of lying without betraying himself. How silly of her to think that he wasn't!

The thought that he had lied to _her_ still stung – but she could live with it. He would always have her back, she knew that; he would always protect her, and that was all that mattered. She smiled fondly. If he was set on pursuing some project of his whilst amongst the X-Men, all the better. She wondered idly what he was working on, and concluded that she would discover that soon enough. It must have been important, she thought, for him to step out of the shadows and into the spotlight like he had, especially after his repeated assertions, these past few months, that he _would_ help them, but only ever _from the shadows._

Maiko only hoped the X-Men would be civil to him – she would wipe them out if they _dared_ hurt otousan in any way. She _had_ her eyes on them. She hoped they would see that the mutants needed _more_ than what they had, that Madripoor was _important_. She had great plans, and she was so glad that they had otousan by their side, out in the open.

She stood up. “I think I'm going to sleep,” she said. She doubted she would rest, but Eike needed to sleep too, and wouldn't go to bed if they stayed up talking like they were. The press conference was in just a few hours – he needed to be fresh. “Try to get some rest, too.”

Eike cocked his head and stared at her for a few moments, yellow eyes glowing. “Maiko.” He was serious, now; gone was the mirth from his eyes. “You really think father's safe in there?” It was a legitimate doubt, and she had no real answer.

She reached him in a few steps and smiled down at him. She was showcasing a security she didn't have, but she had to trust otousan to know what was right for him. “You know him.” She winked. “It's _them_ who aren't safe, with him in there.”

Eike curled his lips up in another one of his vicious grins.

 

* * *

 

But he didn't sleep. When Maiko left for her room, with a bright reassuring smile on her face, Eike left the couch only to go stand at the window, watching Madripoor from up high. The streets were still packed, even if it was so late in the night – or early in the morning; he supposed it depended from the perspective.

It was a lively city.

He still remembered how it was to wake up during the night and tiptoe to the windows to look down, keeping quiet as not to wake mother up. The lights had always appeared magical to him.

Tokyo was just as lively, of course – perhaps even more so; but father's house was in a quiet corner of the city, and Maiko's apartment was in a silent neighborhood as well.

Madripoor was different. Madripoor was home in ways Tokyo had never been. Madripoor was mutants of every kind walking the streets without the fear of being rejected, without the fear of being hunted and oppressed.

Madripoor was his. His and Maiko's, now. And they would show the world that it could be a proud, independent nation, and that humans would be safe from them, because they were above such petty things.

Sure, he had briefly entertained the idea of employing a more violent approach – but Maiko had warned him that that was what had doomed his mother's work from the start, that the world had anticipated that mother might attack humans at any moment, with the force of an entire nation behind her.

Yes, Maiko _was_ right; they had to tread carefully, carefully, carefully.

And it wasn't as if it was only humans who had hurt him; honestly, if Eike had had things his way he would have gone on a vengeful rampage, not unlike the one father had embarked on eight years ago. At the time, father and Maiko had tried to shield him from the worst, had tried to hide from him what father was doing, but the news had been everywhere and it hadn't been difficult for him to understand what father had done; he was ten at the time, not stupid.

And Eike knew mutants were to blame for his kidnapping, too; he had heard father say it to Maiko, in a hushed strained voice, countless times. Someone close to mother had talked about him. Someone – a mutant – had told the animal about him. Someone Eike knew – maybe someone Eike talked to, or even loved – had told the animal about him. And the animal, too, had been a mutant. The animal had wanted to hurt mother, he had said, with his horrible voice and disgusting leer, and so he had sold him to those... people. And then he had –

Eike clutched at his arms, dug his fingers into his flesh.

– and then he had _died._

So Eike couldn't, in all honesty, generalise and say humans were worse than mutants. He wasn't so naive, he knew better. Monsters were everywhere, ready to hurt you and do other things to you, things worse than death.

Shuddering, Eike turned into herself, and studied her own pale reflection on the window. The best she could do, the best she could do to help, was do this. Create a mutant nation again. A strong mutant nation, mother's dream. And now they had the X-Men's strenght behind their claim, regardless of how begrudging their allegiance was. Most governments would think twice before challenging Madripoor now. This was going to work, and Eike fervently hoped mother was watching, from somewhere, and was proud of her.

Eike stared at her reflection, and thought about father. His sudden change of mind, his sudden decision to step out of the shadows and into the revealing light was strange; she recalled how he had always listened to her and Maiko's long rants with an amused, superior air – but, as time went on, he had grown worried, and, more and more, came to understand that they were serious. Eike recalled pretty well the day fahter had shouted they were welcome to have themselves killed, and that he would have none of it – only to catch his children in a tight embrace the moment after the words were out of his mouth. She remembered how he had given up, had said yes, he would help them from the shadows, but that was it, and for god's sake be careful, be careful, be careful.

Eike recalled the day father had investigated, the day father had found out about her.

Eike had been backing Maiko up that day, and after dinner, after Maiko had returned to her apartment, Eike had gone to his own room, gotten comfortable, and she was lying on the bed and reading when father came in _without knocking_.

She had screamed, too shocked to react any other way, and had thrown her book at him. Father had stared at her as if he had seen a ghost, and just stood there till she had screamed again, “Out! _Out!_ Don't you _knock?_ ”

Father had disappeared from the room, closing the door, only to knock lightly a second later. “Eike? Can I come in?”

At this point she had looked down at herself, and had turned into himself and told father to come in, dreading the conversation that was about to come.

But father had surprised him; he had moved the chair away from the desk and closer to the bed, had sat on it – he stared for just a second at Eike, and then had said, “This thing you want to do. I've been talking with Maiko.”

“And?”

“And you're an adult and I can't stop you. I know better than that.”

Eike had sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at father. “You mean –”

“I can't pretend I understand, Eike. But I will always have your back, you know? Your sister knows that. Maybe I've never made it clear to you –”

“I know that,” Eike had rushed to reassure him, “Papa, I know.”

Father had looked overwhelmed for a moment, eyes down to the floor as if something really important lay there.

“Papa?” Eike had said softly after a while, “You mean that you'll help us?”

Shaking himself, father had looked up at him. “Yes. I'll reach out to Madripoor, see how the situation is there, get you some contacts. But, Eike... I'll do it only if that's what you want.”

“What do you mean? Of course I –”

Father had held up a hand. “I want to be sure you _understand_ what you are going to do. Some things may seem such a great idea till the consequences hit you, and by then it's too late. Some things take a toll that's _too heavy_ to bear. I want to be sure you understand that what you want to do will _hurt_ you. Badly. I get the reasoning behind it, I wish it weren't _so_ reasonable. But it's too much for you, Eike. You're too young to run this kind of con without consequences on your mind.”

“I don't understand.”

“I know –” father had shut his eyes, to reopen them long seconds later, “I know I failed you.”

“You didn't –”

“I know I failed you. I know you miss your mother. If this is some way for you to honor her memory, if you want to do this only because of that, there are better ways to do it than –”

“Of course I want to honor her memory, papa, that's obvious. But that's not all there is to it. Can't you just – _look_ around? Why don't you see it?” It was frustrating. Father was frustrating sometimes, when he just didn't _get_ things. “Mutants _die._ Mutants _aren't safe._ You see it from close, with Maiko's work, nobody _cares_ about us. Even what – what happened to me, what, what happened to me was a consequence of that. We are weapons and that's it. But they're afraid. We're weapons and they're afraid. And nobody, nobody cares. We need a strong nation, an economy, we need to _matter_ and take things into our hands because only then will they stop.”

“And you think you're the first one to think that?”

“Well –”

“Genosha was destroyed. _Millions_ died that day. Utopia was a _joke_ , and Madripoor –”

“I thought you didn't care about these things.”

“I know history, Eike. I hope you know what I'm talking about? Do you know about Genosha?”

“Of course I know about Genosha. And Utopia, too.” Maiko had explained to him. “And Madripoor held for much longer. We can make it work again. We can change things, father!”

“At the price of your _sanity_.”

“My –” Eike had frowned. “Papa, what are you talking about?”

“Do you think this will be easy, Eike?” Father had passed a hand through his hair. “Do you think it will be easy, for you, to pretend in front of the world?”

“I knew mama. I can pull this off –”

“I'm not talking about that. I know you're capable of everything,” father had said fiercely. “Eike, your mother is dead. You saw her die.”

“Wow, papa, I hadn't noticed! Thank you!” That had been completely unnecessary, that had made him snarl. As if he didn't know! As if he didn't see it still, sometimes, in his nightmares!

Father had just shaken his head, an apology in his eyes, as if he knew already that what he was saying, what he was going to say, _would_ need an apology. “Eike, it was traumatic for you. And how can't it be? Do you think you'll exorcise it, somehow, if you do this? Do you really think standing up and taking her place won't harm you? Do you truly think looking in the mirror and seeing her face, talking and hearing her voice, won't drain you slowly? Do you think this won't gnaw at you till you break and won't be able to stand up?”

That was so ludicrous. He hadn't identity issues, he was more than capable of impersonating mother without having a breakdown.

But father was just worried about him, and Eike had to reassure him gently. “I'll be fine, papa. I know what I'm doing.”

“No, you don't.” Father had kept shaking his head as if that could change something or convince him.

“It's what is _right_. Mama was the perfect spokeperson, and they will rally behind her – well, behind _me_ ,” he had grinned, “And you're not the first to have this doubt, Maiko said these things already. It was my idea, you know? Not hers. She would never put me under this kind of stress. It was my idea, and it's going to work. It will be fine. _I'll_ be fine. I'll change things, I'll make things better for mutants.” Father was still shaking his head. “I get that you don't get it, papa. I get that you don't care about it. I get that you think it's pointless and you don't care about representation and these things. But you said you had my back, so please. Try to understand, at least a little? This is important. I'll change things in her name. Mutants will stop dying. I will achieve this, _we_ will achieve this. I – I don't want other mutants to go through what I went through, papa,” he had added, before he could stop himself, and he might as well have slapped father, because he had blanched and lowered his head and hadn't spoken for _ages_ , eyes shut as if he were trying not to cry, and his breathing was labored and his heartbeat a mess.

Eike had slid on the covers towards him, and said quietly, “Papa, it's all right. I don't fault you for that.”

Shaking his head, father had opened his eyes again, and looked at him with wonder and such sadness in his eyes it was uncomfortable. “I'm disappointing, aren't I? A selfish old man.” He left the chair to go sit with Eike on the bed. “The first thing you think to do is reassure me, when you're the one who got hurt.” He had hugged him tightly, and Eike, startled, had hugged him back. “You're right to want to make things better. You're right to want others to escape pain and persecution. I wish I could see this your way, I wish I could understand, Eike, I truly wish that. But know I'm proud of you.” He had kept silent for a while, then had suddenly, quietly snorted.

“What?”

“I remember I told your mother that no child of mine would ever get entangled with _politics_. I was so naive. Here you both are, and you are amazing and strong and passionate. She called it, you know. She knew you would be amazing.” It was so rare to hear him speak about mother that Eike had held him tighter, not knowing what to say, silently thanking him for the gift of this little memory. Eike had understood early in life that father and mother weren't a couple, that there wasn't that kind of relationship between them. They had their lives and Eike had been an accident. But they had been together in loving Eike. “I'll try, Eike. I'll find a way for you to do this. I'll find you contacts.”

They had stayed like that for a while, father apparently unable to let go, and it was nice to be hugged like that. Father had always been afraid to touch him after that – _thing_ – with the animal, as if he were afraid his touch was unwelcome. He used to hug him a lot more when he was a kid.

Eventually father had let go, and had stood up as if to go away, and Eike hadn't wanted to have him go without clearing the other thing up, what father had seen.

“Wait. Wait. Haven't you got questions?”

“What about?”

“You – you know.” Inhaling deeply, Eike had done what he had never done in front of someone else – he had turned into herself. “This.”

Again the strange flicker of something like recognition in father's eyes, but that couldn't have been possible. Father had never seen her – or had he? “Are you – creating a persona?”

Her heart sunk. He didn't understand. Father didn't understand. But it wasn't his fault; he was seeing her for the first time now, and she could explain and he would understand.

“No,” she'd said softly. “It's different. I thought you would want to talk about it.”

“Why?”

“Aren't you startled?”

“Should I be startled?”

“Well,” she had gestured at herself, “I thought so. Ever since – ever since that – that thing, that thing with –” she had closed her eyes briefly, trying not to think about the animal, “You've always seen me.” She had turned into himself, hoping the transition would help father understand. “And now you've seen me,” he had turned into herself, “And so I thought you might have questions.”

Father had stared down at her, confusion in his gaze. “I – I confess I thought you had settled.”

 _Settled?_ Grimacing, Eike had shuffled back a bit. But it wasn't father's fault, right? He hadn't intended it as an insult, didn't know it carried harmful connotations.

Her distress had been clear as day; father had winced, and said quickly, “Your mother said you would, eventually. That you'd stop experimenting –”

 _Experimenting?_ Her fingers had tightened on the covers. She had felt her eyes closing into slits.

“I – I'm making a mess of this, aren't I? I'm sorry, she would know what –”

“But she's _dead_ ,” she had snapped, “And you're here, and you'll have to do, papa.” She had forced herself to soften her features. “She'd probably understand better what I'm trying to tell you, yes. But you can do it. I don't know why you always think that you don't do enough, why you always worry that _you_ are not enough.” Father had crossed his arms, as if Eike were chastising him. “You are the most amazing father one could want.”

“I'm really not,” father had said quietly.

“Oh, _stop_ it. You are to me. And to Maiko. And I know you can get this.” She had smiled reassuringly at him, patting her hand on the covers, and he had sat down on the bed again.

“All right. Explain.”

“Okay, so, this,” Eike had turned into himself, “is me. And this,” he had turned into herself, “is me as well.”

Father had cocked his head to the side. “So this is your female alias?”

“No!” Frustrated, she had slammed her hand on the bed. “It's not my _female_ _alias_ , it's _me!_ ”

“Sorry.”

“It's all right.” _Try to keep calm. Papa's super intelligent, he's just trying to adjust to this._ “This is me,” hands to her chest, she had tried to convey her meaning. “All me. It's not a form, a persona, an alias. It's me just as this is,” she had turned into himself again, but there was still confusion in father's eyes.

“It's semantics, then.”

“It's not _semantics_. Don't –” huffing, he had turned into Reese, the human alias which he had used to attend school these past years. That ought to make father understand! “ _This_ is an alias. It's not me, it doesn't _represent_ me. It's just a mask I wear. A mask I can't wait to pull off. Just that.” The wrong thing to say, because father had widened his eyes.

“Why didn't you tell me that you were uncomfortable with that?”

Oh, and now they were going off on a tangent. This wasn't important, it was an issue every shapeshifter _ever_ would always face. “Papa, I understood I had to be Reese to avoid questions. A human boy faces no discrimination. It's all right. Can we move on? I assure you, you didn't _traumatise_ me by asking me to do it.”

“Are you sure –”

“Yes, yes.” Eike had waved Reese's hands dismissively before turning to herself again. “So, now you see the difference? That was an alias, while this is me.”

“I see.”

But they were cursed with hypersenses, the both of them, so Eike knew father was lying, and father knew Eike knew. Father didn't _get_ this. He just didn't. Father saw her as not real and only saw him as real. “It's because of the skin, isn't it?” She had said then, and the bitterness in her voice had made both of them jump. “It's that. To you I'm this.” She had turned into himself. “I'm only this. Because this is _my body_ , right?” he had gestured at himself and still the bitterness wouldn't go away from his voice. “You think that _this_ is my body, the body I was _born_ with, and the rest is just me _experimenting_.” How disgustingly ironic that the body Eike was born with, the body the animal had touched, was _exactly_ what Eike hadn't worn for eight years. “It's not.” Continue before father could understand what he was saying, continue before he could ask _But then, Eike, if this is not the body you were born with, then what do you_ really _look like?_ or something along those lines. Continue, because he hadn't wanted to think about that, because that body wasn't him, no more than Reese was, because that body was something that had been destroyed beyond repair. “You think my blue skin _defines_ me. That's why you don't understand that this is me, too.” He had turned into herself and caught father's hand, her pale freckled skin a curse and an insult. “And that's why I never showed you this. Because I was afraid. Because it seems a slight to mama. Because she would have had a fit if she had seen this, she would have hated me, because she was so beautiful and proud of her blue skin and here I am, degenerate daughter, because I like this pale skin, papa, it's nice, it goes really well with the red hair, and it's me, it's just so me, it suits me, it's me, I'm me –” she hadn't known what she was saying anymore, had realised she had began sobbing but couldn't stop, and father had hugged her fiercely.

“Never hide what you are, Eike. I'm sorry I couldn't see you, I didn't see you. But never be afraid of showing me what you are. You are my – _daughter_ , and I love you, and you're perfect. And your mother was an exceptional woman, and she wouldn't have hated you. She would have understood, far better than me, and she would have been proud.”

“But I'm _pale_ ,” she had sobbed on his shoulder, “I look like a human. I look _ordinary_. She would –”

“ _You're beautiful_ ,” he had growled, hugging her tighter, “You're perfect. And this combination of colors is _excquisite_. You _do_ have a fashion sense, you silly monkey.” Father had released her and pinched her cheek. “Now, if you had lacked fashion sense, _that_ would have been a real tragedy.” He had winked at her. “But this? This is you and I love you. I love you, monkey. You know that?”

“I know that.” Turning into himself, Eike had hugged father again. “Thank you for understanding.” He wasn't sure father really _got_ this, not yet. Perhaps he still thought of only him as the “real” Eike, because he was blue, and thought of her as something else. But Eike couldn't expect father to _really_ understand in just a few moments. And it was okay; he would, eventually.

Dawn was breaking, and, looking at the reflection, Eike realised he had turned into himself at some point during the last hour, as he'd reminisced about father. He hoped he was well. What time was it in New York, Eike wondered? Perhaps father would see him on TV –

The sun was rising. Soon, Maiko would wake up, and Eike would stand before the world and take his mother's place.

He was ready.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ “You said it's already been linked to the Yakuza!” Idie screamed. She was on her feet. Quentin stared at her. He couldn't think. He couldn't _think_ , words echoing in his mind, words pronounced by Daken –


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my amazing beta **TheBrilliantDarkness** , who was super-busy these holidays ^-^

4.

“My boy builds coffins, he makes them all day,  
but it's not just for work and it isn't for play.  
He's made one for himself, one for me too –  
One of these days he'll make one for you.”

Florence + the Machine – _My boy builds coffins_

 

 

Everyone was walking on eggshells around Quentin, and it was beginning to get annoying.

Yes, he had fucked up royally. Yes, he had put the team in an absurd situation. Yes, yes, yes. He felt bad enough already without the sidelong glances or the deliberate staring – and he had resolved not to peek in anyone's mind, for he was positive he would have gone mad from the collective, radiating, palpable disapproval.

“I don't know what you expected, Quentin,” Idie said three days after the mission, as he explained in excruciating detail how he was sorry, if they would just _listen_ instead of throwing accusing glances his way, that would be amazing, thank you very much. Broo, bathing his wings in the sunlight some feet to their right, had been listening to the two of them, but had yet to join the conversation. “You behaved irresponsibly. You left the field. We had to clean that mess on our own.”

 _That mess_ being the body of the little girl, too. An unfortunate choice of words – Idie grimaced as soon as they left her mouth.

“I _know_ , okay? I know.”

“Oh, who cares.” Idie sighed and collapsed on the lawn. “That doesn't really matter, Quentin. Now we have bigger problems.”

“Problems _I_ created.”

Nodding absentmindedly, Idie began playing with the grass. “Yes, that's true. What have you done exactly, Quentin?”

No, it wasn't something he was proud of. When the shock and adrenaline of what he had almost done had worn off (he had almost _paralized_ Daken, Broo had been pretty clear), when Jubilation and the others were urging him to talk as he stared, terrified, at Daken's limp body, the last remnants of his alcohol-induced haze had dissipated and he'd found himself recalling exactly what the _hell_ he had said and, most importantly, what he had _done_ in that fucking bar.

“I told you already. I was drunk and I said some petty things.”

“You seemed pretty sure that they'd be able to blackmail us using the footage of those _petty things_.” Yes, that's what he'd told Jubilation. That was the truth – and so he had deigned to suffer the Cuckoos' unsolicited intrusion into his mind a scant few hours ago. They had stormed into his brain whilst he slept. _Ladies_ , he had greeted them, letting them know he had sensed their presence – but he had let them do their job; they had been acting on Jubilation's orders, of course.

“Yes. That's what Arakawa hinted at.” Daken's _daughter_. Quentin's mind still reeled at the thought. Oh, Laura would find quite a mess when she came back – her team's return was scheduled for later that day, he seemed to recall. Quentin wondered whether she had known about Mystique as well.

He also wondered whether Daken had known about Mystique all along, or whether he had been as in the dark as the rest of them, with her only having shown up later. Was it something she could do? Faking her own death even to her own child seemed a tad _extreme_. Whether she had shown up immediately or years later, though, the impact on Eike must have been terrible. Quentin wondered how Eike had taken the news that their mother was alive; something like that would be groundbreaking, especially for someone who had lost their mother so young – someone who had _seen_ their mother die.

Mystique's speech the day before had certainly been interesting. She had preached unity and reiterated the reassurances Arakawa had already spoken in her name. She hadn't rallied the masses as some had been worried about. She had just stated her will to return Madripoor to its former glory. It had been quite anticlimactic, really, as some had really thought she was going to make some bold statement.

“She was mad at you,” Idie said quietly, “Arakawa, I mean.” Idie had been in Broo's lab when the Avengers – warned by Billy, that damn _asshole_ – had turned up to fetch Daken. Quentin had yet to ask Broo about Daken's situation now that he was awake – he didn't dare to.

“I hurt her father, so that's understandable,” Quentin answered. There was a calmness in his voice that he didn't feel.

“She was threatening to use that video, Quentin.”

“What?” He felt his blood run cold.

“And then Daken stopped her,” she shrugged. “I suppose threatening too much wouldn't have done them much good – she was basically willing to forgo what advantage she had just to give you a slap on the wrist.”

“A s _lap on the wrist?_ ” Quentin repeated, incredulous, “Idie, I _deserved_ her rage. I should have been there to face her.” Too bad he had been too terrified at the idea of facing Daken to go down in the lab. “Do you understand that I _lost control_ for a brief second?” he hissed. The thought was horrifying. “It could have been so much worse. I could have _killed_ Daken. I almost –”

“He's fine, Quentin,” Broo interjected quietly. “The wound is slowly closing itself and the MRI shows no signs of trauma.”

Quentin whipped around to look at his friend and made an unidentifiable sound. “Really?”

“Yes. He'll be out and about tomorrow at most.”

Quentin sighed with relief. Daken was fine. He hadn't _hurt_ him.

Quentin supposed it wouldn’t be long before Daken was roaming the school campus, assuming they allowed him to stay. Would avoiding him prove a viable strategy? God, Quentin didn’t even know what he wanted to do. He wanted to apologize, but at the same time he was furious – and yet, his annoyance was irrational. Daken had never lied, had never pretended to be what he wasn’t. Quentin knew that Daken was a criminal; he had always know that.

“It's almost as if you worry more about him than about us, Quentin,” Idie said, a furrow in her brows. She hoisted herself up on her elbows.

“Well, excuse me if I almost killed a man and that the fact upsets me.” He had lost control. For a split second, he had _lost control_. It was what kept him awake most nights. He had to keep it together, he had to control himself. He had too much power surging through his veins, he _had_ to control himself.

But he had lost it and he had almost killed a man. He had almost killed _Daken_. The thought chilled him to the bone; and thank _God_ he hadn't lost it in the bar.

Idie's features softened. “But you didn't, Quentin. Don't torture yourself over this.”

Didn't she _see?_ He was dangerous. And she knew that. She had said that, the day he had killed Evan. She had been very clear.

And then, along the way, she had changed her mind. Or something along those lines. She had seen how he’d been in the days following the funeral. She hadn’t know that his fractured state of mind at that time was only half due to his murder of Evan – but Idie had been there for him, and began to talk to him again after years of alternating silence and cutting remarks. Their friendship had, on shaky terms, begun to knit itself back together. It could never return to what it had been – but she had seemed willing to try once again to be his friend, and Quentin had been so grateful, so starved of positivity and companionship, that he had welcomed her with open arms.

Even now she was being supportive. She and Broo. Thank God, because he really needed them, needed not to be left to his own devices. Since the day before, though, Broo had taken to casting strange, inquisitive glances in his direction. He supposed the question in his mind was the same question that must be in everyone's mind: why had he trusted Daken?

Answering that would mean relaying what had happened five years ago. Quentin wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to confess to having taken advantage of a situation he had created _eighteen_ years before – all the good intentions of him done such were redundant in the wake of the horrific consequences.

They couldn't understand. Nobody could understand the tightening of his chest at the mere thought of what he had _done_ to Daken – and at the thought of that fleeting, intense moment when he had stared at Daken's softening features and felt something shift inside him.

He had a damn _fixation_ on the man he had _assaulted_ and he didn't know what to do. And Daken had noticed and taken advantage of it, and Quentin couldn't even find it in himself to be angry. He felt remorseful, instead, and happy that Daken had taken his revenge, in a way.

Wasn't this all kinds of fucked up?

When, some hours later, Laura and Kitty and their students came back from space, Quentin was still mulling everything over. Jubilation called for a meeting of the staff and all teams before giving Laura and Kitty the news – Quentin thought this wasn't very professional, but maybe she wanted to gauge Laura's reactions – and so soon they all converged to the conference room.

It was the closest Quentin had been to a good number of them since the Tokyo incident, and it felt more uncomfortable than when he had killed Evan. At least then he had known that what he had done was for the best, he had known he was in the right, even if his heart was dead and his mind empty. But now it was different, now he had created a damn knot.

Jubilation began the meeting by quickly summarising the happening of three days before, and Laura’s shocked expression suggested that she hadn’t known about the plan. That left them to enquire as to why she had withheld information regarding the identity of the new Japanese Director-General of Mutant Affairs when the girl had been elected two years ago. Laura _knew_ Arawaka was Daken’s daughter, and she had kept that knowledge from them. Quentin did not ask the question – he himself had kept her a secret from Logan for ten years – but others were extremely vocal. Laura took the interrogation in her stride, let the questions exhaust themselves, and then answered serenely.

“What would it have changed if I'd told you? She's my niece, and I only tried to protect her. She's human. She wasn't a threat, for which intelligence would have been needed –”

“Well she is a threat _now_ ,” said Julian, and Laura looked at him.

“Excuse me, but _this_ isn't a threat. They're recreating a haven in Madripoor? That's commendable.”

“Did you know about this?”

Laura shook her head. “I've spoken often with Maiko about it, yes. She feels strongly about our predicament. I didn't know about Mystique, though, nor about... _this_ ,” she waved her hands, a gesture implicating the current situation. “If you don't trust me, you can have free access to my mind.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Laura,” Jubilation said, “There's no need for us to turn against one another. It's normal that you worried about your – _niece._ ” She grimaced. “Isn't she human?”

“She's adopted.”

“Oh.” It caused some surprised faces.

The doubt over Laura's loyalties _somewhat_ resolved – she would likely be subject to closer examination via the Cuckoos later – Jubilation continued, telling those assembled that a good number of mutants were already seeking sanctuary in Madripoor, where they were being welcomed with open arms by both the existing mutant population and the _humans_ that populated the island nation. Mystique had revived all the structures that had been in place years before, and was said to be spending most of her time on the docks, to welcome refugees herself, or in the tall building she had claimed for herself. Arakawa apparently lived in the same building, together with various lieutenants. Eike was apparently in there as well – obvious, since Daken was here with them.

Mystique had asked for a _seat in the UN_. She was deadly serious about this. The first time around, she hadn’t dared ask for something like that; she had contented herself with her tiny island and the few things she accomplished on her own. But _now_ – _now_ she was doing things legitimitely, extending her hands to human nations and human governments. It was, in a way, scary. She was adapting – something she had always been skilled at, but never to this extent. Rogue, especially, seemed shocked out of her mind by the picture Jubilation was painting.

Additionally, Mystique had sent polite messages to all world leaders, and sent the X-Men an invitation to come and see her work with their own eyes. She had even offered them the opportunity to send their own representative in the event of Madripoor gaining a place in the UN – there was even a mention of shareholding. She had reached out to Alison, complimenting her campaign and expressing her support – something which had drawn new attention to Alison and brought her new supporters, even from the most conservative mutant public figures.

It was all so nice, polite and reasonable it was eerie.

And, Cypher added when Jubilation finished, the web was responding well. Young mutants all over the world wrote enthusiastically about Madripoor, influential mutant bloggers spoke of the benefits this would provide – it was as if they all had forgotten about Genosha – and all praised the X-Men for working past their “petty rivalries” and working together with Mystique.

Eerier still.

This, of course, brought the subject of the conversation to Daken. What, exactly, did the duo mean to accomplish by having him among the X-Men? Even if it now seemed unlikely for him to get arrested (Quentin was still stunned by the way Arakawa had avoided that – she certainly _was_ a skillful lawyer), some of the X-Men expressed uneasiness at the idea of working with someone who had caused the death of so many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. They all recognised that he hadn't been completely in the wrong, none of them could pretend they wouldn't have retaliated had something like that happened to one of them, but that didn't change the fact that surely not _all_ of those agents had been guilty.

Of course, as far as the law was concerned, _Mystique_ had done it, and she had been well within her rights, too. But Quentin – and he wasn't the only one – had a hard time believing it. It had taken an enormous amount of money and organization to attack the Helicarrier, make it crash just _on_ that government facility, and even if Mystique was active at the time, Madripoor certainly hadn’t had the resources to pull off such a complicated stunt – and that implied that she had been working with Daken, thus revealing herself to him immediately. But then, why not attack in some other way? Why hadn’t she launched an attack with Madripoor mutants, under the more than _just_ justification of self-defense from the start?

No, it appeared obvious to all of the X-Men that Daken had acted on his own, with his own resources – who knew how deep they went? – and that this was an elaborate way to shield both him and Mystique from any consequence.

So, this left them wondering what use could they have for him. Some proposed to have him gone as soon as he was better, but there was the _little_ issue of the blackmail. They all stared at Quentin. Somebody coughed.

Awkward.

And – three, two, one –

“What have you _done_ exactly, Quentin?”

This was it. The occasion he had wanted. He had the opportunity to stand up and defend himself.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I wasn't in good shape –”

“None of us were in good shape, but we didn't go around getting _drunk!_ ” Billy interrupted immediately. He ought to _shut up_ , Quentin thought – he had betrayed them all and ran to his fucking husband in order to inform him of Daken’s awakening. Thus, Quentin didn’t deign to answer him and, to his surprise, Jubilation backed him up.

“As I said, there's no use in turning against one another. We were all shocked by that girl's death, can we move on? Quentin?” She waved her hands, motioning for him to continue as she leant against a desk.

“Yes, sorry. I – lost it, a bit, when some of the people in that bar said unflattering things about that girl, and I – kind of – threw a tantrum.” He winced, “There's no other word I can use. I'm sorry. I practically destroyed the place, and I said some things that would put us in a really bad light.”

There was no sympathy at all in his teammates' eyes; and Quentin found that he couldn't blame them.

“And so,” arms crossed, Billy said what everyone was thinking, “We're stuck with a supervillain in our home because you _threw a tantrum_.”

Phrased like that, Quentin did come across as an _idiot_. Thank _God_ nobody asked him what he was doing at Daken's, asked him why he had followed him.

Again, the issues of what Mystique and Daken wanted from them and what the X-Men could possibly allow Daken to do in order to prevent them from losing any face came up. Jubilation shushed them all after a few minutes of discussion, and motioned to Broo, asking him for updates on Daken’s condition.

Broo stood up. “He's in good shape, all things considered.” He adjusted his spectacles slightly. “He's almost completely healed. My prediction is that he'll be able to move by tomorrow.”

“What happened to him?” asked Laura, because this hadn't been explained earlier; they had just said he was in Broo's care and she hadn't pressed for more, since her own situation in that moment was dire.

Broo hesitated, and Quentin stepped up to answer – it was his fault, and so it was only right that he took responsibility for his actions. “I attacked him. I was shocked by what had just happened and I attacked him.” He had _lost control_ , but that he couldn't say. Wouldn't say.

There was shock on Laura's face, incredulity, and then her features settled in a mask. “I want to see him.”

“He's fine,” repeated Broo.

“I want to _see_ him,” she almost growled, but Jubilation held up a hand.

“Later, Laura. I assure you he _has_ been taken care of. As for the rest,” she motioned to Hisako, who had been sitting next to her for the duration of the meeting, “We'll have to wait for him to join us and tell us what he and Mystique want exactly. Armor?”

“Are we _really_ succumbing to blackmail?” Billy's voice was outraged, and his stunned question was echoed by others – Julian, Colossus –

Jubilation sighed as Hisako stood up. “Yes. We are. Armor, please, update us.”

Hisako went at the main desk, an old-fashioned file in her hands. “Yes. At Wolverine's orders, I spent the last few days in Japan, in the company of Amiko Kobayashi.” Amiko – Logan's adoptive daughter, if Quentin was not mistaken. “She helped me disentangle this mess, and the situation is even more dire than it initially seemed.” She looked at them all; she had their attention. Quentin felt his blood run cold. “Wolverine's orders were to confirm what Quentin has just told us and track down, if possible, a copy of the video. With a copy in our hands, we could have at least assessed the kind of damage it would make. We could have released it ourselves, even, with the help of a well-thought damage control campaign. We couldn't find it. _What_ we found instead –” She straightened up and set the file on the table. “The bar in question – we _are_ sure it's the same – was burned to the ground that same night.”

There was a collective, horrified turning of heads towards Quentin.

He couldn't move nor breathe, horrified himself.

He hadn't – he _hadn't_ , right?

He would recall something like that!

“He _didn't_ , for God's sake!” he heard Jubilation's voice as from far, far away, and oh, _oh_ , he could breathe again. He felt his knees gave way under him, and Idie grabbed him and had him sit. He pressed a hand on his mouth, nauseated and relieved. “You think we would have him go around if he had? I had the Cuckoos on him as soon as Hisako told me.” _That_ was why they had assaulted him during the night? Quentin looked at the trio; they were standing near Julian, arms crossed.

Hisako cleared her throat. “You're correct. Quentin isn't the culprit. Ah –” she caught a piece of paper from the file. “Ten people died. The police investigated; the fire was used to cover an –” she grimaced, “From the autopsies – the police thinks it was an execution. Clean single shots to the head.” She let the sheet fall on the desk and looked at them. “The case has already been closed. As far as the police is concerned, it was a Yakuza matter.”

“But it's not?” asked Julian. Quentin, still reeling from the shock, tried to focus. There was something, something he was missing –

“Well –” Hisako half-shrugged, then went on, “According to Amiko, no Yakuza family would have dared doing something like this without asking for _permission_ first. Always according to Amiko, every single criminal in Japan _answers_ to someone named Ryuujin. The most arrogant name I've ever heard, by the way; it's the dragon-god of the sea.” She cocked her head to the side, a grimace on her face, and threw a glance at Laura. The gesture didn't go unnoticed, but nobody asked anything. Quentin was shaking. He had _already_ heard that name, of course. At Daken's. And in the bar. “Always according to Amiko, this Ryuujin has probably ordered the whole affair. And she says the police has probably reached the same conclusion.” She set her hands on the desk. “It happened too soon after Quentin leaving to be a coincidence.”

“Excuse me.” Trevor held up a hand almost hesitantly. “Are you implying what I think you're implying?”

Hisako gritted her teeth. “Yes. I think Daken is Ryuujin, and I think he _ordered_ the execution.”

Quentin couldn't breathe. Ten victims; his memories were a mess, they _were_ , but had there been – had there been _ten_ people in the bar? Had everyone who had witnessed his loss of control _died?_ If Daken was responsible – why – _why_ had he –

“What does this mean for us?”

“It means that they can release the video and then someone could probably link _that_ to it. It means they can link us to the death of ten innocent humans –”

“You said it's already been linked to the Yakuza!” Idie screamed. She was on her feet. Quentin stared at her. He couldn't think. He couldn't _think_ , words echoing in his mind, words pronounced by Daken –

_I've settled it quietly, the press won't know about your – outburst._

“In the absence of a culprit, yes. But if the video finds its way out there, they could link us to it. They could say we have a motive –”

_I've settled it quietly._

“Have we?” Billy said, “A motive?” He didn't look at Quentin, but at the Cuckoos. “Would we kill to prevent what happened in that bar from becoming public knowledge?” He was asking the Cuckoos because Quentin couldn't be trusted to be honest about this, Quentin thought with detachment.

_I've settled it quietly._

_Oh, God._ Quentin felt the blood drain from his face. After the press conference, he had taken those words as mocking. But now – _Oh._

Mindee cocked her head. “Yes. We would.” She kept the judgement away from her face and her voice, as did her sisters, but he heard the loud buzz coming from their hive mind. She had seen. They had seen. They had dug till they had been with him, forced him to relive that night, and they had heard and they had seen and they had felt his disgust and rage. They had seen him crawl low.

“So we are in their hands? They killed all those people to have us wrapped around their little finger?” Billy snarled, “Why is Daken still in this building?”

Jubilation stood up again. “We can't be sure. This is all hypothetical.”

Blackmail made much more sense than what Quentin was thinking; why, why was he stuck thinking about that sentence, _I've settled it quietly_ , and the way Daken had been looking at him, as if he had _really_ , genuinely been worried, and about other things, things he had said and done afterwards that didn't make sense, not in the context of blackmail?

“You say we can't be sure, but Hisako here seems pretty convinced!”

“It's a reasonable assumption, but we have no proof, unless Laura is privy to other information?”

They all looked at Laura, who had gone pale. “I don't know what you want me to say. I've told you already, I didn't know about this –”

“But do you know if he's this Ryuujin? If he's in control of the crime in Japan?”

“I –” she shook her head, and crossed her arms. “I don't know what they call him. I _do_ know he has a – network.”

“A _network_.” Hisako cocked an eyebrow. “What would Logan have said –” she began, disappointment in her voice, but Laura didn't let herself be guilt-tripped.

“Oh, he knew,” she interrupted, “He knew. And he decided to let Daken be.”

“You can't be _serious_ –”

“Check my mind,” Laura waved a hand, and cocked an eyebrow herself, in challenge.

“You know, maybe we _should_ –”

This was turning into a _circus._ “It doesn't make _sense_ ,” Quentin exploded. They all turned to look at him. “Can we think for a moment? Killing those people to blackmail us doesn't make sense.” There was pity in Idie's eyes, and a questioning light in Broo's, and Laura was knitting her brows. “It's way too convoluted. _Nothing_ would link us to a fire covering a Yakuza assassination. If they had wanted to set us up, they would have used something more easily linked to mutants.” Instead, Daken had left his _own_ fingerprints all over it. “And it would have made way more sense to let those men live, and keep them silent, so that they could threaten to have _witnesses_ of what I did. It makes much more sense.” Was it wishful thinking? Was he making any sense, was he just rambling? He wasn't naive, for God's sake, he wasn't lost in a fantasy world where nobody wanted to damage him, but he couldn't wrap his head around this. It was much too convoluted –

“Why _else_ would they have done it?” Julian laughed. _That_ was the question. _Why would he do it?_

 _To pro_ –

Quentin opened his mouth, and kept it open. This was – ridiculous. A ridiculous thought. He had to reason about this, talk about it with someone, someone objective, and _not_ in front of everyone. Maybe with Laura?

Because there were some things that didn't add up. Daken's behavior had been rather – protective, instead.

A _ridiculous_ thought. Daken had _kept_ him in his house to submit him to his daughter's –

 _You really should leave_.

Eyes widening slightly, Quentin closed his mouth. He had yet to answer Julian. But this – no, it didn't make sense –

There was mockery in Julian's eyes – he thought Daken had done something to him. He thought Quentin was in denial. _Was_ he in denial? Daken had done nothing to him. Or had he? He _could_ have. _Had_ he?

He had used his pheromones to make him sleep; had he used them in other moments? Even if he had, he hadn't taken advantage of him. Quentin had said those horrible things, things that still made him wince, and Daken hadn't reacted. Quentin had slept, and that was it. And then, that morning, Daken had tried to have him _leave_ –

And why remove the witnesses of what Quentin had done in that bar if they meant to blackmail him? Hisako's theory didn't make sense. At all.

“He's right,” Laura said, and the weight of all those sympathetic stares was torn off him. _Now_ they were sympathetic? What the _hell_ were they thinking had happened? He felt offended. “It's too convoluted.”

“Daken _does_ convoluted. Mystique, too.”

“Yes, but you can usually find a pattern, a motive. This makes no sense. I would have left witnesses, instead, as Quentin suggests. It's more effective.”

“What you would do and what they would do _can_ differ, you know –”

“No, I agree with Laura,” said Jubilation. “It's a strategical suicide.”

“Then we can add this to the list of things to ask him?” added Julian, sarcasm in his voice, “I mean, _hey, hello, your plan to fuck us up doesn't sound so good, why did you do it? Do you want us to give you some advice?_ ”

“That's quite enough, Hellion.”

Julian shrugged, cocking his head, “Hey, whatever, _boss_. You're in charge.”

Julian was lucky that Shogo was absent from the meeting; had he been there, things might’ve taken a nasty turn. Quentin rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Hellion, and you would do well to remember that.” There was ice in Jubilation's voice; Julian chose to remain silent. “We're here to regroup, not attack each other. Please, Armor, will you finish?”

“There's something _else?_ ”

“Yes.”Hisako approached the terminal. “You were all asking what Daken could do here. To begin with, we thought he would request access to our network, believing that they only wanted our name attached to theirs to gain more credit. _Liaison_ means nothing and everything.”

“Instead?” interrupted Billy.

Hisako was tapping on the terminal. “You all remember the name Arakawa addressed Daken with? _Akki_?”

Some nodded, other muttered in agreement. Quentin knew, in that exact moment, what Hisako was getting at, and couldn't help but feel sheer admiration.

“Akki is a – quite _elusive_ Japanese vigilante, active in the underground since at least 2016. Ask any mutant in Japan and they’ll tell you Akki’s a national hero. Akki’s their hero. And nobody had a clue who Akki was until three days ago.” She cocked her head to the side. “See where this is going?”

Julian laughed. “Yeah, I have a _hard_ time believing even for a second that Daken goes around saving mutants.”

Hisako shrugged, “It's irrelevant; Akki has yet to come out and dispute this.”

“She was a girl,” Idie spluttered, eyes widening as she remembered. She looked at him, at Broo. “We _met_ an Akki once. Could it be the same? It was many years ago.” She bit her lower lip. “Do you remember her? A young girl in Tokyo.”

Broo was nodding. “Yes, I remember. Quentin?”

He wondered if he had paled; he nodded as well. Trevor, too, was nodding.

“Yes, I thought I remembered something like that,” Hisako nodded. “I remember you mentioning having met a young wannabe hero years ago. The name, when Amiko updated me, did ring a bell. Well, if it's the same person that has been active for all these years, I hope they haven't hurt her –”

Laura snorted. It was soft, but it was definitely amused. “It's Maiko. Akki is Maiko.”

“They _switched places?_ ” There was a brief flash of _admiration_ in Hisako's eyes. “Well, that's it. There's no visual record of Akki in action, and no witness has ever been able to identify them: their costume apparently makes it impossible to understand if it's a woman or a man. Gentlemen, we've got ourselves a national legend, and Japanese mutants will riot if we don't –”

“Please don't say _put him in a team_.” Julian was green. He wasn't the only one.

“Well,” Hisako turned the projector up, showing them Japanese headlines and photos. They were all cropped rendition of the projection at the press conference; Quentin recognised Daken's living room, and in some of the photos he recognised his own arm. The pictures did Daken's attractiveness and relaxed pose justice; the headlines –

“ _Our hero revealed,_ ” Hisako translated, “ _Here's the face of justice._ I'll spare you the rest. It's all very dramatic and nationalistic. They've gone ballistic and they're already asking where we've taken him, what we've done with him, and why haven't we announced our cooperation yet. Expect something in American newsfeeds by _tomorrow._ It's a miracle he'll be able to appear in public by then, or we would have had to face a diplomatic nightmare.”

They were _already_ facing a diplomatic nightmare, what with the uncomfortable position this left them in in relation to the US government; they were on US soil and they were now _nominally_ helping Madripoor.

But with the elections coming up in just ten days, and Alison on her way to winning –

They really had thought of everything.

 

* * *

 

When the frankly hysterical reactions subsided, Jubilation called it a day. Wasting no time, Laura cut through the exiting teammates and went straight for Broo.

“Can I see my brother?”

Broo threw a glance at Jubilation; whatever passed between them, Broo nodded back at Laura. “Of course. Please follow me –”

Quentin wanted to talk to her, explain what had happened – she had been looking at him with such a coldness in her eyes – but Idie caught his arm just as his body moved of his own accord after Laura and Broo.

“Please wait, Quentin.” There was worry in her voice, so he stopped, even if he wanted to follow them and reach the lab and see Daken, determine the damage, ask him – what? Ask him for his forgiveness? An explanation? The more he thought about that night and the morning after, the more _nothing_ made sense. Had Daken come for him to set him up?

Why else?

There was no friendship between them. They were two strangers who shared a strange, horrid connection born of absurd circumstances, and Quentin had even taken advantage of it. Why was he thinking that Daken had come just to _help_ him? In the name of _what_?

“Tell me what's wrong, please,” said Idie urgently, and he turned towards her. Her brows were knitted in worry.

“Nothing's wrong.” _Such a liar I am_.

She shook her head. “Quentin, something happened. There's no need for you to hide, please. Tell me.”

“I'm pissed because of the mess I caused –”

“Stop lying.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “I know I've never been there for you, after – when Evan killed – when Evan _left_. I was so caught up in myself and _angry_. I thought it was your fault.”

The blood froze in his veins. _It_ was _my fault_ . “ _Idie._ It's all right, water under the bridge –”

“And I know something's wrong. You have that same face.”

“What face?”

She shrugged, and avoided his gaze. “The one you wore when Evan died. The one you wore for days after the funeral. There's something that upsets you, and you don't have to face it on your own. If – if you don't trust _me_ , there's Broo –”

“Idie.” Quentin closed his eyes briefly. She was right, and she was worried, and he was upsetting her. She didn't deserve that. “Do you want to go for a walk outside?” He didn't trust these walls. Jubilation was still in the room, elbows bent on the table, talking quietly with Hisako and Colossus, but she was looking straight at Quentin.

Startled, Idie nodded.

They left, and Quentin had to force himself not to take the steps to the right, that led to Broo's lab, and instead led Idie to the lawn. He walked, and walked, Idie a silent presence behind him, and only when he heard her harsh intake of breath did he realise he had headed for the cemetery. _God. Of course_. He stopped, searched Evan's tomb with his gaze. It was apart from the others, but at least it was here. He was grateful Idie had insisted that much to have him here.

“Quentin.” Idie lay a hand on his shoulder, and he couldn't turn. She deserved answers, yes. He didn't want to push her away anymore. It had been such a mess when Evan had turned, she had been so angry – but she wouldn't have been if Quentin himself hadn't been so _stubborn_ , if he hadn't kept a cold demeanor when in truth, he was screaming inside.

She was worried.

“Quentin,” she repeated, and moved to stand in front of him, and cupped his face. “Quentin, I'm your friend. You can tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” came out of his mouth.

“If he harmed you in any way I will _kill_ him,” she said with a vicious, horrible coldness in her voice, and Quentin flinched.

“He didn't,” he said, “He did nothing, Idie. He _should_ have,” he choked out, because this was a mess, this was, god, so fucked up, so, so _damn_ fucked up –

“Why?” Idie looked up at him. “Quentin, I don't understand what's happening to you. I understand you lashed out, that poor girl –” that poor girl had died in _his_ arms, not hers, so she didn't understand, she didn't, couldn't – but she was only trying to help him. _Control yourself. Control. Yourself._ “None of this was your fault. This situation _isn't_ your fault. It's Daken's fault –”

“ _Stop_ it.” He hadn't even known he was going to say it.

Her eyes narrowed. “Do the pheromones have a lasting effect? Have you asked Broo to run a check-up on you?”

“God, stop it.” Quentin shoved her hand away. “If he used them, he used them only to help me sleep. He didn't keep me in there by force, so stop making those big doe eyes at me, I'm _fine_ –” He made to turn away. This wasn't working. He was a fucking idiot.

“You aren't, evidently,” she caught his arm again, “Quentin, ever since we've come back you're carrying yourself like a ghost. I know that look, it's guilt, crippling guilt, like when you were forced to – to kill Evan.” She tried to make him look at her, but as she spoke _his_ name, Quentin's gaze went to his grave and couldn't move away. “I don't know what horrid things that monster must have said to you, what guilt spiral he forced you to fall into, but –”

“I'm _not_ the innocent here!” Quentin snapped, and looked at her. He found only love in her eyes, love and understanding and pity, and he had had enough of it all. “There are _no innocents_ here. I made a mess, Idie, it's _my_ fault. I _threatened_ those humans and nobody _made_ me do it – that was _me_. And if he found a way to use it, and there's his daughter out there too, then good for him! It's only what's right. I don't deserve your pity, Idie, I'm a monster –”

“You aren't –”

“I _am!_ ” There were sparkles in the air around him, and he tried to keep it together. _Control yourself, for fuck's sake. For Idie's sake, at least._ “I am,” he repeated quietly, and Idie hadn't even taken a step back. Silly, sweet, stubborn Idie. “If you knew what it was I'd done, you'd run away screaming.”

“I support you, Quentin. Nothing you _did_ in that bar, nothing you _said_ in that bar, will make me not support you. We all support you. Yes, someone's pissed, but we'll get around this. We always survive, we'll survive this too. Who knows, maybe it will really be fruitful, we'll manage to really do something good with Mystique.” She smiled. “Look at it this way, you gave us an opportunity to work with her. Okay? We'll see how it goes.”

Quentin shook his head. “God, you don't get it.”

“Then help me understand, Quentin. Please. What's eating at you so much?”

“I _hurt_ him, Idie,” he blurted out, “I hurt him and he left and –”

“Evan?” she said softly. Was she _stupid?_

“Daken! I _hurt_ him and he showed up and helped me, and he seemed worried, he seemed to care, he really did, but how could he? I _hurt_ him, I –” he hugged himself. “I don't understand, if you had seen him the other night, he really, _really_ seemed to care, he –”

“ _Quentin_ ,” she said, firmness in her voice, “He blackmailed you. I heard him say it, with my own ears. I don't know how he managed to take a hold of you the other night, why you trusted him –” Quentin snorted at that, and managed to stop the hysterical laughter that was threatening to come out of his mouth, “But he wasn't _helping_ you, he was _exploiting_ you. As for _hurting_ him, it was an accident, Quentin, and he's a _villain_ , you can't be expected to –”

 _No, no, no, I don't mean that, I mean –_ but he couldn't tell her. It gnawed at him and it made him feel like an animal, but he couldn't tell her the _monster_ he was. “I hurt everyone I love. I – Sophie died because of me, and I hurt _you_ , and I hurt _Evan –_ God, I _killed_ Evan, it was what needed to be done, yes, but I killed him, Idie, I _loved_ him –” and his love hadn't been enough to keep Evan from turning; his love had _caused_ Evan to turn. Evan had _decided_ to turn, yes. To work on everything he could to shatter whatever kept the Original Five from going away. To stop Quentin from becoming the Phoenix. It had been such a mess, and if only Evan had let everything be, none of this would have happened – was he crying? God, yes. He was. He shut down the pained screeches in his ears, looked upon Idie through the veil which clouded his eyes, and she had a strange expression on her face, she seemed shocked – had it been something he had said? – and then she clenched her jaw, and he thought that she would go away, but she moved towards him, and she hugged him lightly.

“I know you loved him, Quentin. I never hated you for that. _Never_. You didn't hurt me. It's all right. It's going to be all right –”

 _No_ , he thought savagely, _Nothing's_ ever _going to be all right_ , and he hugged her tightly, and sobbed on her messy hair, grateful for her presence, and he knew he couldn't go on like this, that he had to regain some peace somehow, had to clear this up. He trained his gaze on Evan's tomb, and knew what Evan, sweet gentle soul, would have advised him to do.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Quentin moved; he was getting closer. “Look, I just wanted to talk to Daken for a moment.”


	5. Chapter 5

5.

“I'm not for you, you're not for me;  
I'll kill you first, just wait and see.  
You devil undercover –  
you're not a prince,  
you're not a friend,  
you're just a child and in the end  
you're one more selfish lover.”

Emilie Autumn – _Misery loves company_

 

 

Laura was the epitome of sisterly concern for as long as Broo was in the laboratory.

She entered with the alien and rushed over to Daken the moment she saw him lying on the bed. Upon reaching him, she checked his bindings to ensure that they weren’t the cause of any discomfort, then passed a hand over his right arm in a motion that resembled a worried caress. Daken _knew_ she cared about him, but they had never really been physically affectionate towards one another, so he cocked an eyebrow at the gesture.

“Sister. I do assure you I'm _fine_.” The look she threw him then was a reminder that she was also annoyed with him. Daken wondered whether she had just arrived back, or whether she had been back some time and the other mutants had taken her aside to explain recent events in excrutiating detail.

She kept coddling him, though, and convinced Broo to allow her access to her brother’s medical files. As she read through them, Broo assured her – and Daken, obviously – that his healing was coming along nicely.

“That _so_ reassures me, doctor,” Daken said when Broo finished, “So I suppose I'm going to be able to move soon? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy being _tied up_ in your company, but you didn't live up to the expecta–” Laura smacked his leg with her hand.

“ _Brother_.”

“Sister dear.”

Rolling her eyes, Laura turned towards Broo. “Can I speak with him in private? Or are we to be monitored at all times?”

“Oh, dear.” Broo adjusted his glasses. “Of _course_ we trust you, Laura. I'll let you _scold_ him.”

As soon as he was gone, Laura turned towards Daken. She didn't speak right away; rather, she stared at him, biting her lower lip with her arms crossed. He supposed she was forcing herself not to tear at him, since he was so _fragile_ at the moment. Over the past day, he had felt his own tissues reknit themselves, the vertebrae reset themselves, and now it was only a matter of time; soon Broo would remove the bandages from his head, along with all the annoying cables and other paraphernalia.

Eventually, Laura cocked her head to the side. “Are you _really_ going to impersonate Akki?”

Daken snorted softly. “So they did their homework? Yes,” he added as Laura cocked an eyebrow, “I am. Aren't you glad? We're going to be teammates,” he pouted.

Laura smiled for a millisecond, but then she shook her head. “I'm mad at you, you know.”

“Why? Because you didn't know a thing? So sorry, but you weren't available.”

“You didn't trust me, and this whole situation is _absurd_. _Madripoor!_ ” she exhaled, and passed a hand through her hair. “What in the world –” she shut her eyes.

“I _could_ have warned you, maybe, if you had been on Earth.” Of course he wouldn't have; she would have warned the X-Men. “But it all happened so fast.” _That_ was true; Maiko had been quick to seize her chance and mould the situation to their advantage.

“Daken.” Laura opened her eyes, and there was steel in them. “Tell me where Eike is.”

 _Of course she's not stupid. She's not so naive as those idiots_. “In Madripoor, of course.”

“In Madripoor.” Laura sighed. “With his _mother_ –”

“ _Nir_.” Daken honestly didn’t know if he said it to buy himself more time to think or because Eike had been so earnest about the topic of nir identity.

“What?”

“ _Nir_ mother.” He was getting better in using the pronoun; it didn't feel so strange anymore. “It's a gender neutral pronoun –”

“I – I know what that is.” Laura widened her eyes. “You mean that –”

“Eike asked me to use it when ne's not around and I don't know what ne had decided to be at the moment.”

Laura brought a hand to her chest. “You mean that he – I mean, ne. I thought ne had – settled.”

“Yes, don't use that word when ne's around.” He recalled Eike's expression when he had said it – he had _hurt_ nem. “I didn't pay attention. _We_ didn't pay attention. Ne was so self-conscious about it. Even around Maiko, would you believe it? Ne's started to be more open about it now – and the worst part is that it has _always_ been like this, for _years_. Ne hasn’t just suddenly decided on it..”

“I – I didn't know,” Laura said quietly.

“At least you're not nir mother. I _was_ supposed to notice, wasn't I?” Daken shut his eyes. Some of the things Eike said that day had shocked him. Nir implication about not showing nir aspect ever since Creed’s... _violation_ still had Daken reeling. How in the world had he never noticed, how had he failed to even _think_ about it? He had settled down, because Eike seemed to be getting better, but he hadn’t done enough, hadn’t _worried_ enough. He really was a poor excuse for a father –

Laura was not content to let Daken wallow in self-hatred; she grabbed one of his arms and held it tight ‘til he was forced to open his eyes and look at her again; when he did, he saw that her lips were drawn into a thin line.

“Daken. Is Eike _in the company_ of Mystique?” Such careful wording, designed to prevent Daken from slithering out of properly answering the question. Laura was pale; she didn’t want to believe what she was thinking. Daken wanted nothing more than to reassure her.

“No.”

Laura shut her eyes. For a while, she didn’t speak, and Daken was forced to stare at her pale, worried face. He could guess what she was thinking: _why_ was he permitting this? In times like these, Laura looked every inch the more composed, the more mature of the two. He was grateful for how much Laura had helped with Eike in the years following Mystique’s death, taking on a crucial role in the child’s life. Had it not been for her and Maiko’s help, he would have been so inept, so incapable of handling his role as a father; he would have _destroyed_ Eike, unable to cater to nir needs.

“I knew it as soon as they told me,” Laura said quietly, and she didn't open her eyes. There was such disappointment in her voice that he cringed. “Eike's always worn his – nir heart on nir sleeve. Even if you hadn't told me that Mystique had shown up, _ne_ would have. What –” she opened her eyes. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“I'm doing nothing. It was their desire, it's their project, and –”

“Are you _listening_ to yourself?” Laura snapped. “Their _project?_ This is dangerous –”

“Do you really think I didn't take care of it?” Daken hissed, “Do you think they're on their _own?_ They have trusted people with them. For that matter, do you think so low of Maiko? She's perfectly capable –”

“But _Eike!_ ” Laura lowered her voice as well. “I refuse to believe that you didn't think of the consequences, I refuse to believe that you think this is healthy! I _refuse_ to believe that you think that it's _okay_ for Eike to impersonate Mystique!”

Daken clenched his jaw, looked away from her and fixed his gaze on his feet – thanks to the damn bindings, it was the most he could do to avoid her accusatory eyes. She wasn’t telling him anything new. _Of course_ this was terrible, _of course_ this would take its toll on Eike – that much was obvious. Daken wasn’t _that_ useless when it came to parenthood. He liked to think he’d at least learnt one or two things over the years – those long, terrible years. Eike could repeat that nir plan to impersonate Mystique wasn’t a method of exorcising nir mother’s death all ne wanted; Daken knew that was exactly the case. Under normal circumstances, he would have fought more with nem and Maiko. But these weren't normal circumstances.

He looked at Laura again, Laura, who was looking at him with crossed arms and a thunderous expression. Could he tell her?

No. Dance around the issue, but don't tell her. He steeled himself.

“I agree with you. This is not a healthy way to deal with grief – but none of us have ever been normal in that regard.”

“Then stop them till you can. They'll _listen_ to you –”

“Please.” Daken shut his eyes for a brief second. “Laura.” She stopped then, sensing something in his voice. Yes, he _was_ getting old if he was that easy too read. “I've always shielded Eike from everything. I've shielded nem too much. I didn't _prepare_ nem enough.”

Laura's features softened. “It was normal, Daken. It was the normal thing to do. You've handled it well –”

“No, I didn't,” he interrupted her, “Don't lie to me. I didn't do nearly enough –”

“I'm sure ne would tell you that you are being too harsh on yourself.”

“Oh, ne has already. But I _know_ , Laura. I know the truth of the matter. _I didn't do enough_. And I won't stay around forever. Ne needs to make mistakes, ne needs to learn from them.”

“And you think this will magically make nem grow up? Isn't this too harsh for nem, too?”

“Ne needs to learn to be _on nir own_. Ne's with Maiko, ne's not _alone_ , Maiko will take care of nem. Maiko will be around for longer than me. But I –”

“You talk as if you were about to die any moment now,” Laura let out a bark of dry laughter.

 _I am_. “Laura, my healing factor isn't working properly. You know that.”

“Daken.” She grabbed the files Broo had left around, and flipped through them. “You're a healthy man. You'll live and be thoroughly _annoying_ for a long time still.”

 _I won't_. “I can't know that for sure.”

“This fatalism doesn't become you.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Stop worrying about your supposed impending death and focus on your _child_.”

“I _am,_ ” he snapped. “You can help them or you can leave now. I won't tell them to stop. Not when they've worked so hard for this.”

“Help them.” Laura bit her lower lip. “Daken –”

“I told Maiko to come clean to the X-Men. I think I almost convinced her; call her, talk with Eike too. It will be much easier for them, if they can work without constantly worrying about having the X-Men on their tails.”

“You took care of it already when you decided to _blackmail_ us,” Laura clenched her jaw.

“Yes, and showing good faith will balance the table. They'll be more likely to help Eike than Mystique, that's for sure.”

“But –” Laura shook her head, “Even if you're right – let's pretend for a moment that everything will go as you say – that wouldn't change the fact that _this isn't good_ for Eike, Daken.”

He sighed. “Laura. Maiko's there. She will know if something goes wrong, she will know if Eike needs to stop.” That didn't worry him. Maiko was always so attentive: he knew she would stop everything if she had just an inkling of suspicion regarding Eike’s ability to handle everything.

“Will she?” Laura sat on his bed. “Or will they grit their teeth and continue till they're completely drained of energy, just to make you _proud?_ ”

Make him proud? What was she talking about? “They know they don't have to prove _anything_ to me.”

“Oh, Daken.” Laura shook her head again, almost imperceptibly. She reached for him, and – she cupped his cheek, the strangest, softest smile on her features. “All these years, and you don't see it?”

“What?”

Laura removed her hand from his face, that remote smile still in place. “Sometimes you're so childishy naive.”

“Laura –”

“It _is_ kind of endearing.” She lightly flicked his cheek. “Idiot.” She smiled fondly.

He thought of telling her then. His dear sister, worrying about him. But then, what good would it do? What was the point in making her worry about something that was bound to happen anyway? Did he just want her _support?_ That was so selfish of him. No, it would only hurt her; better keep it to himself. There was nothing that could be _done_ . He _knew_ . He _had_ made his peace with it.

Eike had warned him, so many years ago. Daken had spent so long trying to avoid it – but now, finally, he had given in.

 

* * *

 

Laura left, and time passed, and Daken was getting bored. Broo wasn't adequate company, not by a long shot. The alien was obviously annoyed with him, and, even if he checked on him constantly and was very polite when he did so, he always returned to work immediately afterwards, never uttering a word more than he had to.

The previous night had been terrible; Daken hadn’t achieved more than a scant few hours of sleep, his mind too preoccupied. Every time he had awoken, Broo was in the room with him, but Daken’s attempts at making conversation were dodged with mutterings and the clangs of medical instruments. The fact that the alien had stayed the night _did_ prove Daken’s hypothesis about the room being without cameras – they weren’t going to leave him unattended if there was no way of checking up on him. This eased Daken’s mind, his worries that they had somehow heard his conversation with Maiko the day before disippating.

And in the morning, nothing had changed; then Broo had left, charging a young student of his with keeping watch on Daken. The green-skinned boy was apparently on strict instructions not to talk to the restrained patient, and had divided most of his time between working and looking at Daken with a strange mixture of curiosity and fear. Daken wondered if the boy knew who he was. He had kept himself well hidden for a reason, after all.

When Broo had arrived back with Laura a few hours ago, he’d been carrying a strange mixture of scents on him; worried, angry, curious - and Daken had smelt, faint but clearly identifiable, Quentin’s scent too.

And now, left to his own devices as he was, Daken caught himself, not for the first time since he'd woken up from the coma, wondering how Quentin was –

_Stop it._

Daken wondered if Laura had chosen to indulge him, wondered if she had attempted to convince his children to come clean to the X-Men. He wondered how things were going out there, wondered how Maiko and Eike were doing; he ached to talk to them himself –

He wasn't accustomed to sitting around – or lying around, as the case was – and doing nothing, and Broo wasn't cooperating.

Eventually, Daken requested that Broo should give him some means of entertainment if he wasn’t going to indulge him with conversation.

“I'm your doctor, not a _clown_ ,” came Broo’s annoyed voice from where he stood just out of sight to Daken’s right. He seemed to be tapping on something; Daken couldn't _wait_ to move his head again.

“And I'm bored.”

“Oh, dear me. I'm so _sorry_ to hear that. Let's see. Means of entertainment. Such as?”

“Whatever you want is fine. Just give me something to do, if you don't want to talk.”

“I could have Laura come back, if you're that desperate.”

“Laura is otherwise occupied, I don't want to be a nuisance to her.”

“Oh? Did you give her some task?”

“ She’s just making sure my children are fine, since you aren't even allowing me to do that.”

A pause. “Do you miss them?”

“Of course I _miss_ them, I'm their father.”

“Mh.” Tapping again. What was the alien doing? “I could give you a book, but you can't hold it.”

“You could read it to me,” Daken pouted. “My dear doctor.”

Broo sighed heavily. “You want to _talk_.”

“That would be nice.”

“All right.” He tapped for a while. He tapped for so long that Daken thought he was never going to speak, and was about to annoy him again to pique some sort of reaction when Broo said: “All _right_. You want to _talk._ Let’s talk about this, then: you and Mystique’s ruthless plan to have us wrapped around your little finger.”

“What about it?” Really, Daken wondered how they would take the news that Mystique wasn't alive at all.

“It's glaringly amateurish. It's strange. There are parts that are obviously more developed than others, and parts that don't make sense.”

“They're not supposed to make sense to _you_.”

“ _Ah_ , nice try. It's like a patchwork of different ideas put together without a common denominator.” An apt description, really; that was exactly what it was. Parts Maiko had worked on for months, and things they had added in the mix three nights ago. In the rush of fixing things and protecting Quentin, Daken had created a problem: he had known from the beginning, from the moment Maiko had called him that night, that the drastic measures he had _already_ taken clashed with what Maiko and Eike were about to do. And then, to make things worse, in a sudden, remorseful moment he had gone and _deleted_ the video. And now Maiko and Eike would find themselves a problem. He only hoped the X-Men would be compliant and never force them to reveal what now was nothing more than a bluff.

Yes, because the X-Men had a long history of cooperating with whoever tried to play them. Of course. _I'm a fool_. “And?”

“I'm really curious, since both you and her are quite capable of coming up with something far better than this.”

“Oh, you've found us, doctor. Alas. We _improvised_.”

“You had some things already in motion –”

“That's obvious –”

“And you decided to begin playing earlier than expected.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“I see. That girl’s death sure was _convenient._ ” Broo’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, and the scent emanating from him would have made Daken retreat miles away, had he been able to move – but when Broo spoke again, his voice was light. “Did you _cause_ it?”

“No.” He was just mildly surprised by the question. It was, maybe, something he could have done had it been up to him. But this was his children's project.

“ _Didn't_ you.”

“ _No_.”

“You had no hand in it. You didn't set her loose on the streets, you didn't pay a cop to kill her.”

“ _No!_ ” Now Daken was beginning to get annoyed.

“Not you, not Mystique, not your daughter –”

“I _told_ you no, what are you trying to prove? _I_ did not. _We_ did not.”

Broo didn't answer for a while. He smelt surprised. “You _aren't_ lying.”

“Do I simply need to speak more vehemently to make you believe me? I'll keep that in mind.”

Broo snorted. Really, Daken would have given anything to be able to move and see his face. He was beginning to hate this conversation. Broo had a physiology that made it nearly impossible to understand his facial expressions, but even that was better than this _nothing:_ Daken only had Broo's scent to work on.

“I can't believe I'm saying this, but I believe you.”

“Oh, you have no idea how that relieves me.”

“And you have no idea what you're doing, do you?” There was amusement in Broo's voice. “Uncharacteristically slow, for you. I wonder –” he tapped for a while. “No, everything seems all right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing. Don't worry.” Broo tapped again. “Say, what about those men you had killed?”

“Who?”

“Those in the bar.”

Ah, yes. Yes. He’d been so _eager_ to protect Quentin, hadn’t he? “What about them?”

“Well, it didn't escape our attention that it provides you with an additional way of blackmailing us. Rather devious, if you ask me.”

 _And thank you for giving me the answer you wanted to hear_. “Yes. Try doing something, and we'll make it so that it's linked to you. Nice and neat, isn't it?”

But Broo's scent spiked into something strange. There was definitely a hint of surprise, and – what was the rest? The scents were so much, and were changing so wildly, that it was difficult to discern a state of being. He had such an interesting physiology. Unique; Daken doubted that any other member of the Brood could display such a wide array of emotions. Broo was, in a way, intriguingly unreadable.

And then the doors opened, and Broo jumped on his seat just as Daken smelled the newcomer's scent. “Oh, _dear,_ ” Broo gasped, “What are you –”

“Did I interrupt something?” There was a quiver of uncertainty in Quentin's voice. A waver.

 _Has he been_ crying?

The thought made Daken's stomach churn. He gritted his teeth. _All right. Let's dance, then._ He _had_ to do this.

“No, nothing.” Broo's voice was closer. “Did you want to see me?”

“Um, actually.” Quentin was still near the doors. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Broo was moving about; “I was just about to grab something to eat; do you wish to join me?”

“No, I'm not hungry.”

“All right.” Broo hesitated. “What's the matter?”

Quentin moved; he was getting closer. “Look, I just wanted to talk to Daken for a moment.”

“I – see.” There was just a hint of hesitation in Broo's voice that gave Daken pause. _What_ did he see, exactly? Broo seemed nervous.

But he got to play now, he hadn't the time to worry about Broo.

“Do I get a say in this?” he called, and after a moment Quentin came into his line of sight. He was pale and – yes. He had definitely been crying.

“Of course. Hey.” Quentin hugged himself. He seemed so _young_ and _lost_.

 _What have I_ done, Daken thought. _Oh, what have I_ – “Hey to you,” he said coolly. “And to what do I owe the _pleasure_ of your visit?”

“Can we talk?”

“I can't move, can I?”

Quentin winced. “No, but if you want me to leave, I will.”

“ _Will_ you. So _kind_ of you.”

Quentin blanched just a little bit more, and wasn't looking at him but a few inches to the the right of Daken's head – at his pillow, probably. “Tell me if you want me to leave,” he repeated.

“No, I think I'll hear you now.”

“Okay.” Quentin turned, presumably to look at Broo. “Hey, can you give us a moment?”

“Oh, I –” yes, the Brood was definitely nervous. “I'm afraid I can't.”

Quentin blinked for a few seconds; Daken himself was surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Jubilation's orders.” From the sound of what seemed to be scales being scraped against one another, Daken guessed Broo was wriggling his hands.

“Come again?”

“They don't trust me,” Daken provided helpfully. “Big nasty pheromones-manipulating villain. I lured you into my house and kept you there for whatever horrid reason. Really, if we mean to cooperate, you should trust me a bit more, Broo. I have no intention of stirring _trouble_.”

Broo made a strange whiny sound. Daken couldn't see what he was doing, but Quentin had disbelief all over his face. Maybe they had moved their conversation to their heads. Eventually Quentin scoffed and waved a hand in the direction of Broo. “Yeah, whatever. Stay. It's better this way. Out in the open. Right?” He didn't wait for an answer, but looked at Daken again. He stood for a while just at the feet of the bed, and he seemed resolute.

Daken braced himself for the worst. He had hoped he would face righteous fury, maybe insults spat at him: that would have been much _easier_ to handle. This, instead, would require a more delicate, subtle, and yet far more viscerally vicious approach.

“I'm here to apologize to you.”

“What for?”

Quentin swallowed, hesitating just for a second, but didn't look again at Broo; and then went on: “I didn't mean to cause this much damage. Broo tells me you will be okay soon, but I didn't pay attention to the force I was putting in the –”

 _You lost control, you mean_ . _And you had every right to._ “That was rather understandable. I should have seen it coming. Is that all?”

Quentin hadn't expected him to be so calm, and now was debating if continuing: that much was very clear. He was clearly torn between speaking plainly and bolting, despite his earlier statement of intent: _It’s better this way. Out in the open. Right?_ Broo’s presence was not something Quentin had anticipated, nor something he’d wanted; it made him uncomfortable.

And yet he continued. It was admirable, really. He was a man of strong will. “No. I wanted to apologize for what I did to you – five years ago.”

“Mh-mh.” Bored. Disinterested.

“What I said the other night still stands. I hadn't _understood_. But that's no excuse, I shouldn't have pressed that much anyway. I'm sorry for what I did, and –”

“And what do you want me to do?” Daken interrupted him sharply. “Forgive and forget?”

Quentin started. “No. I'm apologizing –”

“Apologies are conventions for the person who's apologizing to feel better with oneself. They serve no other purpose. Do you want to feel better with yourself, Quentin?”

“No –”

“No?”

“I mean – it's not about me. It's about you. I hurt –”

“Aren't you a _hero_. If you had your way, rapists would never go to prison. They should just _apologize_ to their victims and then they could walk away free.”

Quentin blanched. Across the room, Broo froze; Daken knew it because he had been working and now wasn't moving anymore.

Quentin clenched his teeth. “Do you want me to answer for what I did?”

 _Do I_ want _you. Aren't you so maddeningly proper. Why are you doing this, Quentin? Why must you do this? Can't you scream, can't you be angry instead of continuing to worry about_ me?“Answer for what you did? For what, rubbing your dick against mine? That hardly counts as rape.”

“You weren't able to say no –”

“Then again, this is so self-centered of you, Quentin. You raped me, but you force me to listen to you? Doesn't this count as abuse? I'm your _victim_ , aren't I? What say you, doctor?”

“Ah – I –” Broo rendered speechless: could it count as an accomplishment?

Quentin's face resembled curdled milk by this point. “T-this was a mistake.”

“No shit,” Daken said serenely. “What did you think would happen? _Of course I forgive you, Quentin, you're such a dear. Don't worry._ Had you raped me, I would have felt insulted at this. _Had_ you raped me, I would have buried my claws in you a long time ago, fear not.”

“Wh–”

“But! All good things come to an end. This was mildly entertaining, but I'm getting bored of it now. You've served your purpose. You were _begging_ me to use you, weren't you? Bawling your eyes out in that cemetery. Ridiculous. I knew I could use it, I knew I’d have you wrapped around my little finger by instilling just a tiny bit of _guilt_. And it worked, didn't it? You were so bent on making yourself ridiculous that you walked right into my arms. And you were whining so much! Like a stupid baby. I _knew_ I could count on you to get in here. _Thank_ you.”

“What –”

“And you're still talking. Come now, must I spell it to you? I _used_ you. You were so easy to manipulate, it was embarassing. It was a walk in the park. And now, _off you go_ , child.”

Quentin stared at him. His face was unbearable to look at. It was the face of utter disbelief. Eyes dangerously glassy and _no, don't you dare cry, not now, not in front of me or I –_

“Why are you doing this?” Quentin's voice came weak out of his mouth.

“What, weeding you out? I told you, I don't need you anymore. And you're way too clingy for my taste. It was fun, but now it's getting rather tiring.”

“No –”

“Look, I'll ease your mind. If anything, _I_ raped _you_. Pheromones, remember?”

Quentin shut his eyes. “You're _lying_.”

“I'm not.”

“You _are_. Why are you doing this, why –”

“It's pretty simple. You've served your purpose, and I have no intention of spending the rest of my time here with you running after me, begging to be fucked. It's embarassing, Quentin. You're embarassing yourself.”

Quentin opened his eyes. _Don't look at me like that, don't,_ stop _it –_ “You're _lying_ ,” he said evenly, “And you aren't even being _subtle_.”

“Subtle? How can I be subtle? You appear to have problems understanding a simple _no_ , after all. I thought I'd be clear about it, lest you _assault_ me again.”

Quentin winced, but stood his ground. “I don't know why you're doing this –” Oh, he had to go straight for the jugular, or this would go on and on.

“Are you retarded? Oh, no, wait. Wait, wait, wait. I remember. You thought there was _something_ ,” he sneered the word. Twist and kill and ruin everything. “You precious snowflake. So thirsty and alone, cry me a _river_. What you are is a _hypocrite._ You are enamoured with the mere idea of a victim, aren't you? You have a messiah complex. It turns you on. You're that kind of predator. I knew it since the beginning. I told you I played long games, didn't I? Remember? So I played the victim for you. And you didn't disappoint, let me tell you. So _solicituous_. You thought there was _something;_ yes. Pheromones. It was pheromones, you stupid child. _It's always been pheromones_.”

Quentin clenched his jaw. “You're lying. I don't know how you can think I'll believe this. I know what we –”

“We? Child, there's no _we_.” There was only one thing that could hurt Quentin beyond repair – only one thing that would push him away. He had to say it. “I have no intention of being burned alive.”

Quentin – deflated. It was painful to watch. _No, I don't mean that, no –_ Daken clenched his jaw and watched as Quentin jerked back as if Daken had slapped him hard – face white, sparkles all around him. Daken wondered idly if Quentin would kill him there and then; it kind of fitted with what Eike had told him, all those years ago.

He felt strangely fine with the prospect.

“Are you finished now?” Daken forced himself to say. He put boredom in his voice.

Quentin merely stood there, staring at him like a child discovering just then that the world wasn't a kind place.

“Silence at last. Good. Now _leave_.”

“You're angry, I get it,” said Quentin slowly, his voice level. “You have a right to be.” Even after that _insult_ he was trying to find an excuse for him. _You're a child. A naive, maddening child._ “I won't bother you again.”

“You're so obtuse and self-centered it's not even funny anymore.” _I could hurt you, I could destroy you, and you would_ thank _me. And I don't want to. I can't be_ trusted _not to use you. I can't be trusted not to_ hurt _you. Not if my children are on the line. I ruined it all already, I – Stop. This. Now._ “Sure. I'm angry with _you_. Whatever keeps _you_ at the center of the attention. Now leave me alone.” _Stay._ _Stay. Stay._ “If you try to talk to me again, I will gut you.” _Kiss you. Ruin you. Run. Run away from me_. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear.” It was spoken in a monotonous voice. He moved away, moved rigidly, disappeared from his line of sight. There was an odd sense of finality in it.

It was the right thing to do. Set Quentin free from the self-hatred and the fantasies he had apparently been entertaining for years. He should have done it long ago; he shouldn't have used Quentin like a crutch everytime he saw him. He should have controlled himself. Damn him to _hell_ , he should have _watched his words_ five years ago. He should have, he should – ah, the endless litany of _what-should-have-been_. What a sad old little man he was.

Quentin left, speaking no other words, not even to Broo, who had been painfully quiet for some time. Daken lay in his bed, a sour, horrible aftertaste building in his mouth. This was the right thing to do. The _right_ thing. He had no time for this. Oh, had Maiko not called him that night, had he destroyed that video _immediately_ , as soon as he had seen it –

_Stop this now, this is counterproductive._

As things were, it was a good thing. _You'll die because of politics:_ Daken had flung himself into the fate Eike had warned him about, all those years ago, had entangled himself in them so thoroughly that there would be no escape; he had made himself known to the world, and now he would just have to wait. He had no more than a precious few years _at best_ , now.

Broo spoke suddenly, with an odd lightness to his voice that set Daken off. “You do know that I'm checking your vitals to be sure you don't suffer from brain damage?”

“ _Yes_ , doctor. So kind of you. Thank you.” Was Broo angered? Was he about to jump on Daken on behalf of his friend? If that was the case, why didn't he get on with it already?

“You _do_ realise that I'm checking _all_ your vitals?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. What was Broo's problem? Couldn't he let Daken wallow in self-hatred in _peace?_

“Do you realise that _I can tell_ when you're lying?”

 _Oh_. He had overlooked it like an amateur. Of course he was covered in what, for all intents and purposes, counted as a lie detector. And Broo had even given him a few hints, earlier, if he recalled correctly. This was – frankly worrying; apart from the questions it raised about his current state of mind, it could also undermine what he had just done.

“So you've been interrogating me, doctor? Quite devious of you.”

“A necessary precaution.”

“Of course. And you, of course, know that such devices can be fooled.”

“When one _knows_ that he's being subjected to them, yes.” Broo sounded positively smug. “But you were quite oblivious.”

“I wanted you to think I was.”

“See, there? You're lying.”

Annoying. Annoying little alien. What did he want? “That's hardly a novelty. What other groundbreaking discoveries have you made, doctor? Did you discover that the water's wet? Or that we aren't alone in the universe?”

Broo _chuckled_. Daken wished for him to choke on his saliva. “I know that you were lying all along. And at times, your readings were – peculiar. What I don't know is why.”

Why. _Give him the truth. Appease him. He's Quentin's friend: he'll act accordingly_. “As a doctor, I'm sure you recognise the signs of fixation in Quentin. Of mania.”

“ _Fixation_.” Broo repeated, something in his voice that seemed almost incredulous. “Of course. It hasn't escaped anyone's attention that Quentin has a _fixation_. We'd been wondering what you had done.”

“I worked my devilish charms, of course.”

“I don't doubt it. And I would have expected you to keep exploiting this, instead of –” he trailed off. “This unpleasantness I've just witnessed.” There was steel in his voice, now.

“Oh, I'm so _sorry_ I _upset_ you, doctor. It wasn't my intention.”

Broo snarled. It was quick, and just a warning, probably, but Daken tensed. “Instead,” Broo said after that, voice composed, “You _tell_ me Quentin is fixated. And you burn a bridge. That's quite self-damaging. What's your plan?”

“My plan? I have no plan. I only want to be left alone. I'm only here to help my children, doctor.” _Let me do something useful for them before I die_. “I don't want complications.”

There was a long silence. He hoped Broo would settle for this and wouldn't bother him again. Even if Daken had just admitted to having just been purposefully cruel to chase that maddening boy away.

Broo would investigate, probably –

“Complications,” repeated Broo, in a soft voice.

– or reach absurd conclusions on his own.

Broo was moving away from his spot and was coming to stand beside him. He had something in his hand – a screen. He set it so that it hovered just in front of Daken's face.

“Another test?”

Shaking his head, Broo caught Daken's right hand. Daken started at the contact, but he couldn't move away –

“What are you doing?” He hated the flair of _panic_ his voice displayed for a fraction of second.

“Here.” He was putting something in his hand, a sphere. He guided Daken's middle finger to touch a bump that felt like a key. The screen in front of him lit up. “I've uploaded our library, you can navigate the menu from here. Can you see at this distance without your glasses? Should I move the screen further from you?”

Daken stared at the screen. It was just at the right distance for him to see, even without his glasses. “Books,” he exhaled, incredulous, “You're giving me _books?_ ”

“I thought you'd _asked_ for them?”

Yes, and Broo had refused, angered on behalf oh his friend. “What changed your mind?” What was wrong with him _?_ In any other similar situation, Daken would have sought to gain an ally inside the school as quickly as possible as a method of exploitation.

Broo shrugged. “It occured to me I may have judged you too harshly and too soon.”

Ah, as if. No, the Brood was trying to get closer, to keep an eye on Daken; maybe he could use this, then – befriend the Brood.

“You should trust your guts, doctor.”

“Oh,” Broo snorted softly. “Believe me, Daken, I am.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Phoenix appeared as normal as he could be, extravagant in his garish black and yellow costume, with his pink hair and huge sunglasses: a mask, no more than an elaborate mask. Maiko could see clearly that his mind was elsewhere.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

“Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father,  
run for your children, for your sisters and brothers;  
leave all your love and your longing behind:  
you can't carry it with you if you want to survive.”

Florence + the Machine – _Dog days are over_

 

 

With the hectic schedule that Alison Blaire’s campaign consultants were keeping – what with the elections coming in just a week – it was a damn miracle that they’d agreed to send one of their own along with the X-Men for a visit. Maiko knew that Laura was the one to thank for this – all her own attempts to reach Blaire had been dodged. Blaire was apparently unwilling to associate herself with a known terrorist – and could Maiko blame her? Mystique’s reputation had, after all, been one thing that Maiko had mulled over long and hard when Eike had first concieved of the idea.

And it certaintly hadn’t been the _only_ thing to give her pause. When Eike first began discussing politics with her, Maiko hadn’t been worried; her younger sibling was growing up, and _had_ grown up in a heavily politicised environment. On top of that, ne had idealised nir mother – nir foray into political thinking had, perhaps, been inevitable. Concern hadn’t reared its head in Maiko’s mind even when Eike had started to express interest in doing something, in acting to _help_ mutants across the world; on the contrary, she had been proud. But when Eike had discovered that Maiko was entertaining the idea of creating a new mutant haven, when ne had enthusiastically thrown nemself into the project and suggested Madripoor as a location, and then had suggested that ne could impersonate nir own mother – _that_ had given Maiko pause. It was painfully obvious that Eike wanted to do this to honor nir mother, albeit in an... _unconventional_ way; and Maiko, trying to keep her voice light, had agreed that yes, they could use Madripoor – but she had insisted that there was no need for Eike to put nemself in such a precarious, dangerous situation.

But, regardless of how uncomfortable the idea of Eike impersonating Mystique made her, Maiko couldn't deny the importance of having a charismatic leader to accomplish what they were hoping to; uniting the world’s mutants on a single nation would be a feat in itself. Genosha, Utopia, Madripoor itself in the past; history taught that a powerful figurehead was the key to success. Eike had said that ne wouldn't have trusted anyone with nir mother's legacy. Ne would have trusted their father, of course, and his charisma would fit the bill perfectly – but otousan had always been adamant in avoiding this kind of talk; he wasn't that kind of man, plain and simple. He didn't care about social justice or equal rights. Maiko was aware of that, and even if it frustrated her sometimes, she loved him. How could she not? Her brilliant, amazing, loving father.

They had asked him, of course – and, of course, he had declined. Otousan was content with what he had, but Maiko had always striven for more, for doing what was right, and he knew that. He hadn’t told her to stop; he hadn’t told _them_ to stop.

Eike had continued to insist – and, well, nir words had made sense. For better or for worse, Mystique had been a highly influencial figure, and her sudden reappearace would work – _could_ work. And Maiko would always be with Eike, would always be one step behind nem, would always hold nir hand and help nem, so why not? Why not _try?_

It could work. They could make it work.

Pending, of course, cooperation from other influential mutants.

And that was what brought them to the rooftop of their tower, waiting for the arrival of the X-Men’s Blackbird. After a few days of back-and-forth phonecalls, Laura had managed to convince her teammates to give “Mystique” a chance; she had even convinced Blaire to send someone, thank God.

And this was the moment of truth, in a way; Eike had finally agreed that they should come clean to the X-Men about their ploy. Otousan was right; this would be beneficial to them.

 _Otousan._ Maiko's stomach churned. They had managed to exchange a few words with him in the past few days, thanks to Laura; he had preached caution, time and again; had asked how they were, how the situation was, and then preached caution again; had asked Maiko a thousand times how Eike was – only when Eike was absent from the room, of course; and he had enquired as to whether Maiko thought Eike was holding up well, and advised her to end everything the _moment_ Eike seemed to be buckling under the weight of the situation.

He had been – terribly, terribly concerned, so solicituous it was disturbing. But he had always been like this, with Eike; and it was normal, really. Eike was an adult now, and they were doing something dangerous – they weren't stupid, they _knew_ they were, and the situation was under control, but it was normal for otousan to be this worried. Maiko still recalled how viciously, violently protective of her he had been when she was younger; he recalled that time, still at the beginning, when she was still struggling to understand her place with him, when he had savagely murdered the Yakuza assassin that had tried to kill her – no, more than that; he had made an example of the man’s death. It had been brutal. And it had been in that moment, maybe for the first time, that she had understood that “the strange man” that was keeping her around _cared_ about her, that he wasn't going to abandon her. It had been in that moment that she had allowed herself to _hope_ again.

Yes, it was normal for otousan to be worried, and she loved him for that. But she was also so terribly, terribly worried about him. He was all alone among the X-Men, he had cut off all his sources, and he looked so _tired_ . When he had appeared on TV, standing on the lawn of the Jean Grey School together with Jubilation Lee – as word had gotten around that he was a “famous Japanese vigilante”, and so many news channels had sent their reporters to the school – for a split second she and Eike had almost not recognised him. He looked fine, healthy, spoke clearly; there was no sign of the vicious head trauma he had suffered... but they _knew_ him. Perhaps nobody else would notice – it was also possible that nobody at the school _cared_ , save for Laura – but _they had._ He had looked terribly, terribly tired, his wrinkles clearly visible under the strong lights of the cameras, impossible to hide as his hair had been cut short, probably by the Brood when operating on his head.

Maiko looked at Eike, holding nir mother’s form as the plan necessitated at this point. Eike had been shocked to see otousan on the television as he had been. It had been easier for Maiko to remain calm, because she had seen otousan frail and vulnerable many times – more times than she would have liked to. Following Eike’s kidnap and rescue, she had so often caught otousan in a worried, anxious state; and after Logan’s death, he had been so hurt, so confused.

And now – Maiko couldn't pretend to understand what was happening in his head, what was tormenting him, but she was sure it wasn't just his paternal concern. And so she was worried; was there anything else she could do? She wanted to reach him, but she had to take care of Eike, Eike needed her support and constant presence more than otousan did. Otousan was so stubborn, he would never ask for help; but at least Laura was there with him, at least Laura could talk to him.

And Maiko was set on giving Laura otousan's cellphone back, so that they could have a more direct line with him.

The X-Men's Blackbird finally appeared, and landed on the rooftop as Maiko, Eike and some guards waited. They were all trusted people; otousan had run thorough investigations on them before allowing any kind of contact. They knew about Eike's real identity, of course; some of them had even known nem has a child. All had been so happy to see nem, to see that ne was fine; later, Eike had confessed that ne was a bit afraid that one of them could have been the one to betray nir existence to the _animal_ , as ne called the disgusting monster, Victor Creed; and Maiko hadn't had the heart to tell nem that otousan had taken care of the traitor immediately, years ago; that Mystique's people, at the time, had cooperated with otousan with a vicious anger, and that that mutant's end hadn't been _at all_ pretty. Blob, his name had been; and apparently he hadn't meant for any of it, he hadn't thought that Creed would have done something like that. He had just talked to an old friend of his, he had cried as they tore him apart, and if he had known that Creed would have hurt _little Eike_ , he would have never, _never_ – his screams had tormented Maiko's nightmares for months.

Well, she hadn't had the heart to _say_ it, but her expression had told Eike everything ne needed to know, and ne had been relieved at that, and that was all that mattered.

The X-Men walked out of the Blackbird, Laura just behind Jubilation Lee. Phoenix was there too, and Rogue – she could be a problem; the truth wouldn't be palatable to her. And Blaire's representative was – Maiko squinted her eyes at the grey-clad figure: Jean Grey.

They waited as the group reached them. Maiko would have much preferred to see otousan in the flesh again, but apparently the X-Men were set on keeping an eye on him before allowing him to go out and about, and otousan had said he wasn't going to antagonize them. He would maybe manage to come and visit soon; it all depended on how today went, after all.

So greetings were exchanged, and then they took the X-Men through the streets, intending to show them what they had been working on during the days that had followed the declaration of independence. As they walked, Maiko took great care not only to show their guests the mutants living in Madripoor, but to stop the group to speak to humans, to show them that they were set on making the island a multicultural, tolerant nation.

They'd been walking for some time when Maiko took note of a certain man - one who seemed, time and again, to be present whenever she scanned the crowds. She resolved to keep an eye on him, and continued what she was doing, leading the X-Men through the streets.

The X-Men asked their questions, of course, and didn't even try to be subtle about them; they seemed incredulous that humans were _truly_ living on Madripoor, and that those humans were treated _well_ . Maiko knew that this was what would allow them to sell the concept to the masses: the fact that humans could live happily and _unharmed_ on the island.. Mystique's error, bent as she had been on protecting the mutants on the island, had been exactly this; Madripoor under Mystique, at the time, had been no more than a ghetto.

Madripoor now, however, would be open and respectful. It was amazing what a few sensible rules, if appropriately enforced, could accomplish.

Eike played nir part, guiding them all through the streets. Ne was good; ne replicated Mystique's speech pattern almost effortlessly, and managed to held nemself as the woman had. Maiko had never known Mystique very well; they had spoken only a scant few times, what with Mystique holding her in contempt for being human – but, going off of what she had heard from otousan, and several other people who had know Mystique, Eike was perfect for the part... Maiko wondered how much of it was acting, and how much was emulation. She had been keeping her eyes on her little sibling, these past few days – and so far, Eike hadn't shown uneasiness at what ne was doing. It was just a con, after all, as Eike had said countless times; ne knew what ne was doing, and there was no cause for concern about any of this.

So they traversed through Madripoor, and all appeared perfect. The only potential problem came in the way Eike was holding nemself around Phoenix. The anger Eike felt towards the mutant was evident in nir clipped voice and aggressive body language; indeed, even Maiko had to reign herself in and exercise control so that she didn’t snap at Phoenix out of anger. Regardless of whether it had been an accident or not, Phoenix had _hurt_ otousan. Otousan could write it off as collateral damage, disregard and be done with it – but Maiko and Eike were not so easily forgiving. Still, otousan was fine, and so Maiko had complied with otousan’s request not to discuss the issue further, even if she was still wracked with curiosity as to what otousan could have demanded of Phoenix, about what their deal could possibly have been. Because there _had_ been a deal – that much was clear, crystal clear, even. It was painfully obvious that otousan had succeeded in blackmailing Phoenix somehow. Who knew to what depths otousan was set on going? What could possibly be his plan?

There was nothing unusual about Phoenix’s presentation that day; he was, as usual, extravagant in his garish black and yellow costume, with his pink hair and huge sunglasses – all a mask, nothing more than an elaborate mask. It was clear to see that his mind was elsewhere.

But this was otousan's game, not Maiko's. Phoenix's _outburst_ had served its purpose, had paved the way to this, and Maiko would concern herself with it no more; unless, of course, the X-Men tried something on. Were that to happen, Maiko knew she would only have to ask otousan for the video, and it would resurface. She wondered where he had hid it; on his phone maybe, or in some driver, or on some secret server of his.

Maiko signalled discreetly to Eike, requesting that they tone down nir behaviour around Phoenix. Eike rolled nir eyes, stuck nir tongue out at Maiko in a moment wherein the X-Men were otherwise occupied; it was jarring to see Mystique’s face contorting in such a childish way, and Maiko wondered how the X-Men might have reacted, had they seen it (as it was, Laura had been the only one to notice, and she exchanged a smile with Maiko) – and then Eike nodded and was, from that moment onward, the epitome of composure.

When they were satisfied that the X-Men had seen enough, they brought the group back to the central tower, the building that served as their place of residence. The moment of truth was fast approaching. They would have to tread carefully.

As she led the group inside, Maiko threw a glance around at the crowded road in front of the building, and again saw the man that had followed them closely during their tour. It was possible that he thought he was a good tracker and that he hadn’t been seen – and, though it had taken Maiko some time to notice that he was everywhere they went, she soon caught on; she had, after all, been trained by _the best_. The man had always tailed them from a distance, had kept himself inside large crowds, and he was utterly unremarkable, forgettable in his looks. She would have to have him followed – there was the distinct chance that he was an agent sent by another country for the purpose of spying. It was quite commendable that he’d managed to infiltrate Madripoor without alerting any of their telepaths. Maiko motioned discreetly to one of the numerous guards nearby; it was only when the guard threw a puzzled look in response that Maiko realised that the strange man was no longer anywhere to be seen.

 

* * *

 

Eike led their guests up the tower to one of the largest, most comfortable conference rooms, and in the meantime was faced with an uncanny question: “How is Eike?” Phoenix – the murderous bastard – was the one to ask, and Eike wanted nothing more than to snarl at him and hurl him from the rooftop for attacking father, wanted to laugh hysterically in the face of the question and change there and then – but she had to maintain her cool, had to be _relatively_ calm for the upcoming discussion, so she swallowed it down and answered _relatively_ truthfully.

“Fine, thank you. You may see him later.” What a joke. Eike couldn't wait to see their faces. She exchanged a glance with Maiko, who nodded slightly, and aunt Laura, whose lips were a thin line. Auntie wasn't happy about this. At all. Eike had heard it in her voice.

She couldn't understand. She _didn't_ understand that this was important for Eike, that it was important for mutants. Maybe, as father did, she thought this would take a dangerous toll on Eike. And it was a freaking stupid preoccupation , really. She was fine. This was coming along nicely, and she was _fine_ . She felt _empowered, useful._

Phoenix nodded at her answer, and appeared relieved to know that Eike herself was fine. Strange. What did he want with her? What did he care? Eike vaguely remembered him, recalled having seen him at the school after they’d rescued her from that horrid facility He had been floating and screaming and crying, and spreading flames _everywhere_ , she recalled, and trapped in her own stupefied grief she had seen a kindred spirit in him, she had snatched his hand to try to calm him down as she used to do when father got overwhelmed, she had thought that simple motion would help her too. She had been so naive. But then, she had been a child.

Aunt Rogue joined the conversation with a thunderous expression.

“Fine? How can he be? How do you _sleep_ at night, mom?” Oh, this was going to get _ugly_. Eike hadn’t considered that aunt Rogue might react like this – indeed, neither had Maiko, and it was possible that it had even slipped father’s predictions. “So what did you do? I bet you did as you always do, you showed up one day and acted like nothing had happened at all?” Her face was contorting in a snarl.

“Ah, Rogue –” Maiko tried to interject, but the woman was fixed on setting everything straight, probably. Eike felt sorry for her: the truth was going to hurt her.

“How _could_ you, mom. Who cares if you didn't tell me? I'm used to this act by now, but your _child?_ Your own flesh and blood? Please tell me, _tell me_ that you reappeared right away, please tell me that you got to raise him. Please tell me that you didn't _show up suddenly_ one day!”

“It's complicated –”

“Ah!” Aunt Rogue let out a bark of dry laughter. “But of _course_. You don't care, right? You don't care about _anyone_ , unless it's useful for _you_. You _never_ care. He saw you die, mom! How could you do this to him?”

And in between the pity Eike was feeling for aunt Rogue, she felt annoyance at being misgendered like that – annoyance at the _things_ she was saying about mother. She wasn't even flesh and blood with mother. She was _no one_ . She had _no right_ to speak like this.

And yet – that wasn't right of her to think. Maiko was not connected to Eike through flesh and blood either... but she was family, nonetheless. She was her sister. She was father's daughter.

Eike bit her lower lip. “I'm sorry,” she managed to say, and thank God they had reached the conference room.

They all sat, aunt Rogue still with that thunderous expression on her face. Eike hoped this wouldn’t turn into a family drama. She felt a sudden, strong, urgent, visceral need for father to be _there_ with her, he whose presence was always so calm and reassuring.

But she was an _adult_ . She didn’t need father to come and save her; she would show him that she was a grown-up, that she was _capable_ and _competent_ like him, like Maiko.

Eike sat, and exchanged a glance with Maiko, with aunt Laura. It was just a matter of finding the right moment; for now, they would let the meeting run its course.

The X-Men were impressed: that was a given. They hadn’t expected matters to be so smooth in Madripoor, not on such short notice. It was all thanks to their agents already on site, though – the guards currently standing in the room with them, that father had contacted and that had slowly worked their way in the bowels of Madripoor, that in turn had contacted the right people. It had been _teamwork_.

The pleasantries didn't last, though; and Jubilation Lee was in the midst of some long tirade about father's presence in their school when Jean Grey cleared her throat, and, as her opinion was what mattered the most now, Eike shushed the annoying vampire.

“You've brought us – _me_ – here for a reason,” Grey began, palms on the table. When Jubilation Lee opened her mouth to talk, Grey shook her head. “Jubilation, you can resolve whatever issues you have later. _I_ don’t have all day, what with having a campaign to oversee.”

“Oh, but we know that’s not true,” Eike said pleasantly, “In fact, you should relax. You'll _win_.”

“Do you refers to the polls? Numbers can change; people are fickle. But,” she cocked her head, “Now I see that's _exactly_ what you're counting on. You want a powerful ally without really putting much on the table. Isn't that so?”

“Guilty as charged.” Eike was about to grin, then recalled mother didn't really use to do that and settled for a smirk. “We’ll be able to bring plenty to the table, given some time.”

“A mutant nation.” Grey drummed her gloved fingers on the table. “A mutant nation with _humans_ in it, whose presence is proportionally opposite to the US as of now.”

“Humans are _safe_ ; you saw that.”

“Yes, I saw that. We all saw that.” There was just a hint of incredulity in her voice, and Grey looked around at the X-Men before returning her attention to Eike. “What you want is a _Stahlpakt._ ” The German rolled awkwardly out of her mouth.

“I wouldn't be that dramatic.” Eike smiled. “I like to think of it as a pact of mutual cooperation. We should stick together, brothers-in-arms.”

“The world wouldn't dare _attack_ two allied mutant countries,” Grey pursued her lips together, “Is that so? The world would tremble – and _that’s_ when you’d strike, and you’d drag us in with you.”

“I would not,” Eike reassured her. “That's as far to my intentions as it can be.”

“Yes, you're so innocent.” Grey tilted her head in the direction of Jubilation Lee. “Don't think we don't know what you're doing. You think that having your trusted man – your trusted agent – amongst the X-Men, will lead the public to think that you're serious about this, that you've changed. As if mutant supremacy wasn't your goal anymore.”

“It's not,” Maiko interjected, “I do assure you, we –”

“You're cattle to her, Arakawa,” Grey snapped, not even turning to look at Maiko, “I hope you see it. God, you're embarassingly naive.”

“Seems to me mutant supremacy is more on your mind than mine,” Eike snapped, “You won't even look at her. Does she disgust you so much, the tender poor little human?”

Grey cocked her head, “Your words, not mine.” She looked at Maiko and shot her a condescending smile. Maiko kept professional, but was bristling. Eike wanted to reveal their bluff, but they needed to know where Blaire stood in this, first.

“I have no intention to launch any kind of attack,” Eike said slowly, “ _Cooperation_ and _stability_ are on my mind. The world has seen too much pain already.” Aunt Rogue snorted; Eike ignored her. “What I wish to accomplish cannot be done without you, yes. We are a small nation; we need backup. We can't offer much now; that's true. But we'll grow strong in a matter of time, and will come to stand beside you. You have my word.” Aunt Rogue was furrowing her brows, now. “We've been honest, here, Grey; we've let you in. We've shown our strengths and our _weaknesses_. It's your turn, now.”

“You have, yes,” Grey drummed her fingers on the table again. “A surprising show of trust on your part. Were it to me, I would _maybe_ give you the benefit of the doubt.” She sighed. “But Alison Blaire has no intention of cooperating with you.” Her tone was final. Wasn't there even some kind of room to talk about it?

Eike refused to believe it.

“Why?” she asked calmly.

Grey cocked an eyebrow. “Surely you knew that already? Surely you didn't think she would _forgive_ you for what you did.”

Eike felt her blood run cold. What had mother done?

Maiko interjected, “This is _politics_. Personal matters shouldn't come into it.”

Jubilation Lee barked a laughter. “Yes. _Personal matters._ Why don't you ask her, Arakawa? Why don't you ask your _client_ what she did to Alison Blaire?”

This could get out of hand quickly; she had to reveal herself now, they had their answer –

But she needed to _know_.

“I hardly think anything I might have done could come to matter,” she baited, “This has nothing to do with –” she trailed off, hoping Grey would rise to it, and wasn't disappointed.

“You _kidnapped_ her,” snapped Grey, and Eike stiffened, “You caught her and held her captive for months and _experimented_ on her, for your personal gain. For _months!_ Did you really think she would just forgive and forget?” Eike wasn't listening anymore, eyes on aunt Laura, who had paled slightly. She hadn't known of this, either, or perhaps had forgotten; who knew how much time had passed? But – no, mother hadn't done something like that, _couldn't_ have done something like that, couldn't have kidnapped a fellow mutant and – _experimented_ on her? What had she _done?_ How could have she done something like this? This wasn't her mother – this woman Grey was talking about _wasn't_ her mother – her mother would have never, _never_ –

She had to calm down. She had to keep it together; she had to use this. This was the _perfect_ opportunity to reveal herself. They knew by now that the only obstacle to Blaire working with them was merely mother's presence. So Eike steeled herself, looked straight at Grey, who was waiting for an answer with a raised eyebrow. Out of the corner of her eye she saw aunt Laura brace herself; beside her, Maiko inhaled sharply. Both of them had realized she had decided to act now.

“Well,” Eike managed, with some effort, to keep her voice level, “It's a good thing I'm not my mother, then,” and she turned into himself. He might have as well turned into a hydra; Grey and the X-Men stared at him, uncomprehending, till aunt Rogue blanched and exhaled:

“This ain't funny.”

“No,” Eike agreed, “It's not.” He tilted his head in her direction. “I'm sorry.”

“Mom, this is _not_ funny –” her voice was shaking.

“Mama's dead,” Eike said, and he wasn’t sure quite how he was staying so calm. “You were there, remember? You took me in your arms and tried to calm me down. You kept saying it was going to be all right –” his voice broke; aunt Rogue snapped a hand on her mouth, shut her eyes tightly; she kept shaking her head as if that could somehow affect reality, as is she thought this was just a bad dream of hers. Eike had had his fair share of nightmares wherein mother had come back to life - _I'm here_ , she would say, _I'm here, Schlingel, it was just a bad dream_ \- to understand what aunt Rogue must be going through, even if the woman couldn't _ever_ possibly feel the pain and loss he felt.

Eike trailed his gaze over Phoenix, who was pale-faced, over Lee, wide-eyed in shock; it was as if they'd all forgotten how to breathe. He straightened up on his chair. The X-Men were stunned enough that they wouldn't speak for now; he had to go through this before their questions. He saw Lee turn her head slightly to throw an incredulous glance at aunt Laura, but quickly returned his attention to Grey and spoke before Lee could speak up herself.

“I would beg you to convey my sincerest apologies to Blaire for what she suffered at the hands of my mother,” he began, just as he felt a gentle, subtle prodding on the surface of his mind – was it Grey or Phoenix? Or both? He felt the added presence of Chie, the young telepath that had worked for father and had now come with them – or rather, with _Maiko_. He hoped the poor thing wouldn't get annihilated by the two X-Men. They weren't likely to turn his mind into a battlefield though – they were just prodding to ascertain his identity. “I'm mortified. But, as you can see,” he cocked his head and pointed a finger at his own head – he freaking _hated_ telepaths. But the alternative countermeasure to telepathic attacks was the chip, that required _invasive_ surgeries – and he wasn’t going through any of _that_ , so he had to endure the presence of the telepaths in his mind. Was Chie having any luck in keeping the X-Men at bay? Eike wanted to show the X-Men that yes, it was him, no, he wasn’t lying about his own identity, but he didn’t want them to dig _too_ deep and see the animal –

He forced himself to trust Chie and finished what he was going to say. “As you can _see_ , I'm _not_ my mother. I hope this little trick won't jeopardize our cooperation; it'd be a shame.”

Lee made an incredulous sound, but Grey cut her off again. “Yes. I _see_ that you're not Mystique.” She was pale – _what_ had she seen? Eike would have to ask Chie later. Thankfully, they all seemed to have retreated from his mind for the meantime. “As for our so called _cooperation_ –”

“What have they _done_ to you?” interrupted aunt Rogue, pale and stiff, standing up from her chair, hands on the table. Her features were contorted in rage. “What sort of strange figurehead did these _monsters_ turn y–”

“ _Excuse_ me,” Maiko scoffed.

“You _bitch_ ,” snapped aunt Rogue in return, and no, he hadn't expected this, he truly hadn't. But he should have. _They_ should have. “Like father, like daughter. You disgusting –”

“ _Hey!_ ” Eike stood up, furious, and slammed his hands on the table. “You're our guests, so _behave_. Sit down or I'll have you thrown out, aunt.”

“I'm not your aunt –”

“You're _nothing_ to me, so be grateful I'm giving you a familial title _at all_ ,” Eike snarled, and aunt Rogue paled further. “Especially if you keep insulting my _family_.”

“Your family,” aunt Rogue kept her voice quieter, “Your family is using you –”

“You speak of things you know nothing about. _No wonder_ mother let you go.”

And _that_ shut her up. She fell back on her chair, eyes wide as plates, a line on her brow, and kept her silence. Finally. The fucking _bitch_. How dare she badmouth father and Maiko?

He felt a hand touch his; he glanced to the side and saw it was Maiko, her profile set as she stared calmly ahead at the X-Men; he glanced down at the table, and saw that his hand was shaking, and that the claws were out. Maiko ran her fingers over the back of his hand, signalling _peace_ over and over and over again. Inhaling, he sheathed his claws and glanced up again at the X-Men. Maiko drummed _love you_ on the table, and he drummed the same in response.

Aunt Laura was twitching uncomfortably in her seat. Lee had recovered her composure, and Phoenix sat upright in his chair; aunt Rogue was staring at the table, jaw set. Jean Grey was the one that mattered now; and Jean Grey appeared calm. So he talked to her. “I won't accept these accusations against my family. No one is forcing me to do anything; say this to Alison Blaire. We'll wait for her answer.”

“Why tell us?” Grey asked calmly. “Why tell us instead of maintaining the charade?”

“Why this charade, you should ask,” aunt Rogue muttered to the table.

Grey cocked her head in her direction, indicating that she would like an answer to that too. Eike sat back in his chair. “Mother was an icon; this is the best way to draw the attention of the world. No one would take us seriously if her teenage child was the one being seen to rise to the challenge.” He cocked his head to the side. “This opens up opportunities that would otherwise have been closed to us.”

“No one in Madripoor _knows_ , right? They think you're Mystique.” Grey was biting her lower lip. She was thinking quickly, calculating the pros and cons of this.

“Yes,” Maiko spoke, “No one outside of this room knows.” No one outside of the _tower_ , rather – but it wouldn't do to reveal everything. “And now you.”

“A surprising show of faith.”

“Well,” Eike grinned. “It would have been rude of us to keep you in the dark. We're even now, aren't we? Each of us knows something that would ruin the other.”

Phoenix stiffened; Grey's eyes steeled. “Blackmail?”

“Oh, no, it's blackmail only if the other party forces the hand of the other. Isn't it?So long as we’re good to one another, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

Lee was almost growling, her vampire teeth showing. “So you're giving us the means to bring you down? Where's the catch?”

“Catch? No catch. I'm showing _my good faith_ ,” he planted a hand on his chest. “Isn't it nice?”

“It would have been nicer to give us back the video. It would have shown your good faith just as well, and you wouldn't have been forced to reveal yourself.”

“Oh, I don't think so,” Eike smiled gracefully. “That video's a goldmine. Isn't it, Maiko?”

“It sure is.”

“Yes,” Eike nodded, “So inspiring to our brothers and sisters across the world.” Phoenix was turning an interesting shade of green. “But it – ah – advocates some brutal things, and we don't want that. We want peace. I _told_ you, there's been too much pain already. It's time for a peaceful home, and we'll be delighted to work with Blaire, with America.” He looked at Grey again. “We're serious; we're committed. Please let us know what Blaire's answer will be.”

“And if you don't like the answer?” Grey drummed her fingers softly on the table, “Will you release that video? Even so, I'm sure it doesn't concern us.”

“Actually, you'd be surprised.” Eike crossed his arms. Phoenix had said some interesting things about Blaire, too – mainly comments on what ought she do with humans like those he was insulting, were she to be elected. “But no. You have my word. We mean to cooperate, not blackmail our way through everything. That is merely a _failsafe_. And you have one as well, now. I'm sure Alison Blaire will appreciate it.”

Grey cocked her head; it was impossible to know what she was thinking. “I will report everything to Alison. You'll be contacted soon.” She made as if to stand up, but Lee put a hand on her arm.

“Make sure to tell her who she would end up associating with.” Oh, she was keeping with this. How annoying.

Grey cocked an eyebrow at her. “Two idealistic youths?” Eike almost rolled his eyes at that; Maiko was almost the same age as Grey. “Fresh blood is always needed.” She clenched her jaw. “They were exceedingly unorthodox, yes. But it's not my call to make, it's Alison's. I'll talk to her.”

“That's all we ask,” said Maiko quietly.

“I meant _Daken_ ,” snapped Lee. “They may be fresh and innocent, but _he_ isn't and you know it –”

“Keeping him on a leash is to be your problem, Jubilation, not mine nor Alison's.” Grey shrugged, and stood up.

Lee didn't back off. “We're used to having reformed criminals among us, Jean, that's not what worries me –”

“Yep, like aunt Rogue –”

“This is _assuming_ that he'll act accordingly,” Lee added, but she didn't even believe the point she was making; from the look in her eyes it was clear that she guessed that father would have _kept his place_ with the X-Men on Maiko's and his behalf. “But if Alison accepts this cooperation, _she_ will associate herself with him too, and this could lead to uncomfortable questions from the press. Can she really undergo this now?”

“That will be her decision to make.” Grey grimaced. “Questions about what exactly?”

“Remember the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier incident?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Eike interjected cheerfully, “Remember when I was kidnapped and tortured? Oh, that was a blast. _Unforgettable_.” The silence his words engendered was eerie. He steeled himself and took advantage of it. “Grey, that won't be a problem for Blaire. From a strictly legal point of view, we are in the right,” he motioned to Maiko; she nodded at Grey.

“I'll send the papers to your office,” she said, and Grey nodded back, her lips a thin line, “And miss Lee knows perfectly well that we have this covered,” she added, ice in her voice. What was Lee playing at?

“Yes,” Lee clenched her teeth. “I'm merely warning her. This will backfire.” Aunt Rogue was nodding, but she was the only one of them agreeing. Aunt Laura was on their side even if she didn't agree, they knew it – and Phoenix appeared lost in his own thoughts.

“It won't,” Maiko said firmly.

Grey appeared satisfied – perhaps not _truly_ , perhaps this was just a way of speeding up the process, what with her being in a rush – but Lee wasn't pacified. A hand up to stop Grey, the other on the table, she addressed Maiko.

“What about more recent casualties? Even if they're not used _against us_ ,” Lee gritted her teeth and Eike wracked his brain – what was she talking about? Then he remembered. This was happening, _exactly_ as father had predicted; good thing he had activated his emergency protocol first. “Any reporter with an ounce of self-respect could make two and two together. The President of the United States can't associate herself with the Yakuza.”

It was quite absurd that they thought that it was _their_ cause that benefitted most from the death of the humans in that bar Phoenix had almost destroyed. Didn’t they see that _Phoenix_ was the one who’d lucked out there? He was being so sneaky, not speaking up at all. What a grade-A asshole. One again, Eike found himself wondering what father’s endgame with Phoenix was to be.

Grey was looking at the two of them. “What is she talking about?”

Maiko cocked her head to the side. “I'm afraid I don't follow. The Yakuza?”

Lee scoffed, “You know full well what I'm talking about. The very convenient death of everyone featured in that video.” Exactly, convenient. God, they really were dense. Phoenix could have a giant sign pointing at him and they wouldn't have noticed. “The Yakuza was involved – a simple investigation shows as much. Alison can't associate herself with –”

“Again, I don't follow.” Maiko set her hands on the table and looked earnestly at Grey; Grey looked back with furrowed brows. “We had nothing do to with it. We _aren't_ associated with the Yakuza, Grey, I assure you.”

Lee snorted. “Oh, you're so innocent! I underestimated you, Arakawa, I see that now. You're as sly as your father.”

“Oh, thank you,” Maiko shot her a beautiful smile. “But I still don't understand.”

“No? You may play innocent, but Daken cannot. It happened as soon as Phoenix left that place with him. One hell of a coincidence!” She let out a bark of dry laughter.

Maiko blinked, eyelashes fluttering vapidly. “You're right; that's a strange coincidence. What are you implying, exactly?”

Lee blinked, perhaps taken aback by their utter lack of reaction. Oh, the cute thing. Had she perhaps meant to blackmail them in return with this? She was _so many_ steps behind.

“I'm _saying_ , not _implying_ , that he ordered that execution. And that's not as easily defendable as the Helicarrier incident. That's _murder_. And the President can't –”

“Otousan _ordered_ their execution? Oh. How? What has the Yakuza to do with it, for that matter? You appear to be a bit confused, miss Lee.”

Scoffing, Lee turned towards Grey. “Jean, the X-Men _can_ live with it, but Alison cannot. Daken _leads_ the Yakuza.”

“ _Oh!_ ” Maiko laughed. It was long and delighted, and the X-Men stared at her as if she were mad. Eike would have joined in with the laughter, but he feared it would come across as forced; he wasn’t nearly as good at this as Maiko. He waited, looking sheepishly at the X-Men, as Maiko's laughter diminished and died. Then she motioned an almost timid bow. “Oh, do forgive me, it's just that I see were the misunderstanding comes from, now. You appear to be convinced that otousan is the infamous Ryuujin!” She laughed again, a thrill of bells. Out of the corner of his eye, Eike saw Phoenix stiffen. “That's a serious accusation,” Maiko added sweetly, “Do you have any proof?”

“Proo-”

“Proof! Really, it’s a very serious allegation you’re making. Just a moment, I need to write this down,” and she was suddenly in her lawyer mode, brisk and professional. “Do you wish to accuse my client of it? May I address you to some prosecutors in Japan that would be _thrilled_ to see your evidence? Oh, we've been trying to catch Ryuujin for years!”

The look on Lee’s face told them all they needed to know: she hadn’t thought this through, and she _d_ _efinitely_ had no proof. They must have connected the dots on their own, but even if they had, that didn't _prove_ anything.

Maiko waved a hand. “I'm waiting. Nothing? No?” She looked at Grey. “I'm mortified that we took so much of your time. Please, give our warmest regards to Alison Blaire, and our best wishes on her campaign, regardless of what she decides to do with us.”

Grey wasn't nearly as stupid as the X-Men. She saw that there _was_ a good chance that what Lee was saying was true – but Maiko's reassurance that there wasn't proof of _anything_ put her to rest. She was a politician, after all; she was shrewd. She had to focus on the bigger picture, home in on things that were likely to pose a threat rather than dally around with things that would _not_ . She had to calculate the pros and cons, and she _had_ to see that an alliance with Madripoor _would_ be beneficial.

So she was satisfied, for now, and she would report what had transpired, and that was all they could ask, all they wanted from her; and she left, accompanied to the teleportation room by their guards; it appeared she really was in a rush and had come here only as a favour to aunt Laura.

The latter was being stared at by her teammates now. There was disappointment in Lee's face, betrayal, but aunt Laura held the vampire's gaze, unflinching. Aunt Rogue, pale, kept looking alternatively at her and at Eike, at Maiko. Phoenix was a sight to behold, clearly distressed with his jaw clenched and the little flames dancing all around him.

Their own guards waited quietly in the background for an order. All-in-all, this had gone surprisingly well. Father had been right; coming clean was the right choice. Eike stretched his arms up. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” he asked amiably.

The X-Men looked at him; aunt Laura's mouth twitched upwards. But she was the only one amused.

“Eike,” aunt Rogue began – but he had no intention of hearing her pleas if she was to insult his family again. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes. Are you done? Must you interrogate me?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, I see you're mom's child. I'm sorry I –” she caught herself. Who knew what was going on in her head, really? He relented; she must have been shocked, her reaction one of _worry_ towards him.

“It's fine, aunt,” he conceded, speaking quietly, “I'm really fine.”

She nodded; she didn't appear convinced, not at all, her scent betraying her conflicted feelings – but she seemed willing, at least, to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“ _Fine_ ,” Lee repeated. She had crossed her arms. “Fine? You people are _deranged_. This will backfire spectacularly.”

“But you will help us,” Maiko said sweetly, voicing Eike’s own thought. If the X-Men had really not been okay with this, they’d had plenty of chance to act before they found out the truth of what was going on behind the scenes. This sudden show of concern over Eike’s mental health was nauseating; it was really none of their business.

“You've got our hands _tied_ , Arakawa,” Lee motioned towards Phoenix, who still wore that dour expression and who still had tiny sparks dancing around him. His weak grasp on his own powers was frankly frightening. Maybe the X-Men ought to worry more about Phoenix and less about father’s presence at the school. “And _you_ ,” Lee turned to throw a glance at aunt Laura. “I can't believe you kept _silent_ about this.”

“Oh, leave auntie be, she only agreed to indulge us for a few days.” Eike waved his hands, and aunt Laura rolled her eyes. Father must’ve been very convincing for her to have agreed to this.

“For a few days?” Phoenix asked quietly. It was the first time he spoke in a good while, and his voice was rough with emotion. Anger, probably. Eike shrugged.

“Well, yes. We wanted you to come here with preconcieved notions about the place and have you admit _despite them_ that we've been doing good work here.” He grinned. “And you _did_. Tell me, don't you see? We will change everything. Don't you feel it?”

Aunt Rogue snorted softly. “I should have noticed it sooner. You’re so idealistic. I should have seen it when I heard you speak at the press conference.”

“What's wrong with idealism?”

“Nothing,” she smiled a tired smile. “You're way less jaded than mom, that's all. _Cooperation with humans._ ” She snorted. “She'd have had a fit, she would.”

It was so terribly painful that this woman, this woman that didn't even share _blood_ with mother, knew her _better_ than Eike. He could have accepted such a comment from uncle Kurt, maybe. But uncle Kurt was _gone_ , and all Eike had left was this woman who shared nothing with him.

He shrugged awkardwly, tried to chase those thoughts away. “I like to think she would have agreed with me.”

Aunt Rogue lightly shook her head, indicating that she didn't think this would have been the case, but she made no further comment.

As the X-Men stood up to leave, Maiko gasped. “Oh! Wait, please.” She turned to a guard and motioned with a hand for him to come over. “Laura, could you please give this to otousan?” she asked as a case was brought out and placed on the table; she and Eike had prepared it with great care. She slid it over the table towards aunt Laura; Lee, aunt Rogue and Phoenix eyed it suspiciously. As Laura laid a hand over it, Lee asked, “What is in it?”

Maiko crossed her arms. “You can run all the tests you want. It's nothing dangerous. He left everything at home, he had no time to pick up _anything_ ,” she added, steel in her voice, and – Eike had surely _imagined_ Phoenix's wince? “His glasses, his phone, some clothes,” the things he had been wearing on TV had nothing of his elegance – he must have been relying on borrowed clothes from some X-Man, someone who _clearly_ had no taste at all. “His costume –”

“His _costume_.” Lee scoffed. “Akki, is it?”

“Yes,” Maiko said serenely. “His Akki costume. He wouldn't want to go in the field without it.” It had been tailored to be identical to Maiko's costume, and _ought_ to fit him.

Lee shook her head. “God, we're really doing this,” she muttered, nodding to Laura, who snatched the case up.

It was almost a confirmation, as if a seal of approval had been finally stamped over the whole affair. Eike felt almost as if the world had stopped on its axis for a brief moment, as if this was the most important moment of his entire life. It was happening. It _was_.

Maiko stood beside him, and he threw a glance at her, reached out and caught her hand.

Yes. They were really doing this.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Cruel. Daken was cruel. He was a cruel person. A criminal; an _assassin_. Cruelty was his weapon of choice, so much more effective than murder. His words cut way deeper than his claws.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

“Darling heart, I loved you from the start;  
but you'll never know what a fool I've been.  
Darling heart, I loved you from the start –  
but that's no excuse for the state I'm in.”

Florence + the Machine – _Hardest of hearts_

 

 

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _received by server_ 10.23.2031 10.23 a.m. JST _read_ 10.29.2031 7.43 p.m. EST] **Standby.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 9.43 a.m. JST] **Confirmed.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 7.50 p.m. EST] **Are you all right?**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 9.58 a.m. JST] **Yes.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 7.59 p.m. EST] **The men were worried.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.02 a.m. JST] **Did they question you?**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.03 p.m. EST] **I meant worried about** _**you** _ **.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.09 a.m. JST] _**Confirmed** _ **. Good luck.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.10 p.m. EST] _**I** _ **was worried about you.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.13 a.m. JST] _**Protocol confirmed** _ **. Good luck. Destroy the phone.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.15 p.m. EST] **That's very childish, boss.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.16 a.m. JST] **Not anymore.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.17 p.m. EST] **Can we talk about this?**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.19 a.m. JST] **At your age I would have done anything for this. What's your problem?**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.21 p.m. EST] **You're still alive, and this is a** _**death** _ **protocol.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.22 a.m. JST] **Ah. So you're worried I'll come back and retrieve everything and leave you with nothing.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.23 p.m. EST] **That's unfair.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.26 a.m. JST] **Yes. I know.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.27 p.m. EST] **I'd give my life for you, boss.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.26 a.m. JST] **Not anymore.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.27 a.m. JST] **And that was terribly sentimental. Please tell me you were joking.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.43 a.m. JST] **Kazuro. I cannot think of anyone fitter for this than you. You were with me at the beginning; it's only fair you got this now. You earned it.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.45 p.m. EST] **That was terribly sentimental, boss.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.46 a.m. JST] **I have my moments.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.49 p.m. EST] **And I was such a good fuck, too.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.50 a.m. JST] **You were. Good luck, Ryuujin.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.54 p.m. EST] **That will take a lot of time to get used to.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.56 p.m. EST] **If you ever need anything – if you or the kids ever need anything – call me. I'll do all I can.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.57 a.m. JST] **Focus on keeping power in your hands first.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 10.58 a.m. JST] **But thank you.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 8.59 p.m. EST] **I will.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.29.2031 9.04 p.m. EST] **It was an honor working for you.**

[from *encripted number* to *encripted number* _read_ 10.30.2031 11.13 a.m. JST] **Thank you.**

 

* * *

 

Life went on. Quentin still had to drag himself out of bed and teach and eat and then return to bed – and he spent the nights sleeping in fits and starts, his dreams haunted by Evan’s face – no, not Evan’s, sweet, attentive Evan’s, but Apocalypse’s. Yes, it was Apocalypse that taunted him in his sleep – taunted him for his lack of control, for burning him alive, for never thinking of the consequences – for being a disgusting rapist. It was draining for Quentin to force himself out of bed after nights of such terrors – they hardly allowed him to get any meaningful sort of rest – but the cycle was established, and he was powerless to escape it.

This had been the case ever since he’d confronted Daken in Broo’s laboratory. Quentin knew he needed help, knew that surviving on such patchy sleep would not be sustainable for long – but every morning he thought ‘ _maybe tonight will be different’,_ and every morning he resolved to ask for help the next day.

He would drag himself around campus, the glances exchanged between the kids impossible to miss – but really, who cared? Quentin was perfectly functional. He wasn’t sleeping, but so what? It wasn’t like he was a stranger to sleepless nights. And how could anyone sleep, weighed down as he was with such enormous guilt?

A few days after their eventful trip to Madripoor, Quentin found himself sitting with Broo at breakfast. Quentin waited for the inevitable speech wherein Broo would express his concern – but instead, Broo slid a small box in front of him.

Quentin opened it, curious. “ _Pills?_ ” Sighing, he clicked it close. “Really, Broo?”

“You aren't sleeping,” Broo said simply. “These should help.”

Quentin snorted and slipped the box into his pocket. “What, no grand speech about how I should take care of myself?”

“I don't think you want to hear it,” Broo took a sip of his coffee. “But you need your rest, Quentin. We will all need to be functional on Election Day.”

They were expecting problems, of course. Rallies were likely going to happen – and riots might follow. The polls forecast Alison as the winner, and not every citizen would be happy with that. Quentin nodded. “The show must go on, right?”

Broo hesitated, tapping his clawed fingers on the table for a few moments. “Quentin. Do you want to talk about –”

“Nope.” Quentin took a sudden vested interest in eating the breakfast that he had hitherto left untouched.

“Quentin. I don't know what happened –”

“ _Nope_ is English, you know.” Quentin stuffed his mouth with eggs. Really mature, yes. He was a teenager all over again, wasn't he?

He needed to stop acting like a victim. He wasn’t a victim. He was a _burden_ on everyone he knew and this childish attitude only made things worse. He knew all this on an intellectual level; he was a criminal and needed to answer for it, needed to take _responsibility_ for his actions. He shouldn’t have been spending his time wallowing in self-pity and stewing in self-hate over how much of a monster he was – he needed to man-up, lock himself away so that he couldn’t hurt anyone again. The Avengers had been right, all those years ago – he was a menace. And the Phoenix _wasn’t_ the problem, the Phoenix hadn’t _made_ him a monster – he already _was_. He was a hypocrite.

A hypocrite that couldn't sleep. But for now, he had no choice but to suck it up and do his job as an X-Man – helping out with Alison’s campaign was his primary duty. He would resolve everything else later. Quietly. In such a way that he wouldn’t create issues for her, the first mutant President of the United States.

Broo was looking at him, so Quentin shrugged, swallowing down the eggs he’d long since chewed into mush.“What?”

“I don't think –” Broo caught himself; following his gaze, Quentin saw Daken – his stomach churned – walk into the cafeteria. He was dressed immaculately in his own clothes – a simple white shirt, buttoned to his neck, and loose black trousers. Jubilation had reported that he’d been thrilled at receiving the case of belongings his children had entrusted to the X-Men – the case that hadn’t been given to him until Broo had finished thoroughly examining it and everything it contained, of course.

His _children_. Quentin's stomach knotted at the memory of “Mystique” turning into young Eike, at the idea of the dangerous game they were all playing.

Daken leaned on the counter as the young student working as barista served him, smiling genially when the transaction was complete. Quentin grimaced and averted his gaze just as Daken turned and scanned the area for a table.

Broo was silent; out of the corner of his eye, Quentin saw Daken settle very far from them and take his cell phone out of his pocket.

Quentin was still getting used to seeing Daken out and about on campus; it brought on an eerie, painful sense of déjà-vu. He was still getting used to seeing him and suppressing the instinct to run over and beg his forgiveness again and again and again. It was so selfish. Was this how abusers acted? Was he an abuser? Of course he was an abuser. God.

Quentin saw Daken shake his head and smile as he set his phone on the table, then tuck back the loose strand of hair that kept falling on his forehead.

He wasn't dyeing his hair anymore. He was keeping it natural, black with so many – _far_ too many – grey stripes. It had regained its lenght fairly quickly, and Daken was keeping it in a high ponytail, tied tight enough that it highlighted his sharp cheekbones and cruel features.

Cruel. Daken was cruel. He was a cruel person. A criminal; an _assassin_. Cruelty was his weapon of choice, so much more effective than murder. His words cut way deeper than his claws.

He was so much more than that, though. That didn't excuse Quentin's actions. Nor Quentin's _inaction_.

“I don't think this is healthy,” Broo said, and Quentin turned to look at him. His friend was looking at him with worry in his red eyes. “In fact, I think this is plain ridiculous. Dangerous.”

Quentin frowned. “What is?”

Broo’s wings jolted. He turned his head sharply and made a frustrated sound.

“Broo?”

“He was lying,” Broo hissed, “Quentin, he was _lying_. He doesn't –”

Quentin scoffed. “Of course he was lying – what do you take me for, an idiot? I know perfectly well what really happened. I was _there._ ” He held a hand up to stop Broo from asking _what_ had happened again. There was nothing to talk about – no excuse to be given, no context needed. Abuse was abuse. Broo was trying to make him feel better about himself, but he ought not to. One _had_ to face judgment for one’s own crimes eventually. “He made what he thinks of me perfectly clear. He went out of his way to make me understand that he wants nothing more to do with me. And he’s right to want that. What I did to him can't be forgiven, Broo. It's all right, I know that. Don't try to defend me.”

“No,” Broo said through his teeth, “I mean that he was lying –”

“When he turned the tables, yes. When he tried to sell the whole _I used you_ shtick.” How angry and broken had he been, really, to go on the defensive like that, to lie to Quentin's face knowing perfectly well that he wouldn't be believed? “I know. I understood. I won't bother him again. I'm going to stand up and pay for what I've done.”

Broo inhaled sharply. “Quentin.”

“What? It's what I should have done five years ago,” Quentin spat. _It's what is right. What i_ s just.

“I'm sure that's not what he _wants_ –”

“Oh? He told you that?” Broo had taken to chatting idly with Daken at lunch. Just for minutes at a time, nothing excessive. This whole situation was really _too_ painfully similar to eighteen years ago – minus the fact that Daken had all his memories, now... They had even lodged Daken near Broo's quarters, for the exact same reason of the first time.

“No.” There was a brief flash of guilt in Broo's eyes.

“Hey, it's all right. You're allowed to talk to whoever you want to. He's easy to talk to.” Tiny pang of jealousy be damned. He had no right to feel it.

“Jubilation asked me to keep an eye on him.”

“Do you have to laugh at his jokes to keep an eye on him?” Well, deception consisted of that, too – but he somehow doubted that Broo would think of it. Broo grimaced. “Yeah, I didn't think so. It's all right.” Quentin shrugged.

“What he said about you and Evan –”

“– was horribly cruel,” Quentin shrugged again, shrugged it off. Or, at least, tried to. But he didn't manage to – _couldn't_ manage to. “A nice touch, don't you think?” A slap in the face, an insult, a claw right into his chest. A _push_ , crueller than the others, more effective. Unforgettable, unforgivable. And _well deserved_.

“Yes.” Broo clenched his jaw. “A nice touch.” He didn't speak, for a while – he appeared lost in thought. He was staring at Daken. Quentin grabbed his now cold coffee and swallowed it all down. He grimaced; he had forgotten to put sugar in it. “Do you think you'll be all right, today?” Broo asked eventually.

A combat session in the Danger Room with Daken? God, Jubilation had the worst ideas – but they needed to see him in action. “Yes. I'll be fine. Don't worry, Broo,” Quentin smiled at his friend.

Broo didn't seem convinced – but he stood up all the same, muttering under his breath. Quentin couldn't quite catch what he said, but he thought he heard _unhealthy_ again. Well, damn. Yes, it was, probably. It was unhealthy of him to fixate so much. Daken had made very clear that he didn't want to ever talk about what Quentin had done again. He should accept his will; if anyone had the right to decide, it was Daken, not Quentin. But Quentin needed to talk about it for his own peace of mind – he owed it to himself. He owed it to every person he had wronged over the years. He needed to own up to all he had _done_.

He’d taken Daken’s agency away, taken away his choice. He’d – dammit, he’d _conditioned_ him like a _dog_ . It was horrifying. Daken had trusted him, and in return Quentin had destroyed everything. Now Quentin found himself asking whether Daken’s trust and reliance had been conditioned too. Was it possible? Had anything _ever_ been real? Was there some sort of trigger in Daken's brain, something that _forced_ him to rely on Quentin, like he had all those years ago? What had he done? God, _God_ , what had he _done?_

Some hours, three classes, and a session of disgusting self-hatred later, Quentin found himself in the Danger Room with Idie and Colossus, waiting for the others, and – most importantly – Daken to show up. He would be with Laura; Quentin had seen the siblings having lunch together. Jubilation and Broo were up in the observation room – Jubilation, in particular, wanted to see Daken’s fighting style and ascertain how good he was at team combat. She still wasn’t sold on the whole idea, and they had other things to worry about – but Rogue, who still appeared somewhat shaken by what they’d witnessed in Madripoor, had surprised everyone by taking Laura’s side and confirming that Daken was a skilled fighter with a wealth of experience. They could, she said, find use for him.

Billy had countered by pointing out that Daken was also a _murderer_ – _that_ was the man they would be bringing into their team. Such an observation suggested that he wasn’t very familiar with the X-Men’s track record when it came to employing people of dubious pasts – or perhaps he was simply choosing to ignore that. The list of former X-Men who committed _genocide_ was not, after all, short.

Robert arrived, and Rogue shortly after – then Billy, grimacing to show his continuing displeasure with the whole situation.

And yet, no sign of the clawed siblings. The assembled team began a light program, just a few good old-fashioned Sentinels to warm up on. Quentin honestly needed the physical exercise; it allowed his mind to focus on the movements or his own body, on strategy – much better things to dwell on than his inner turmoil. Evan used to tease him about finding solace in the Danger Room; when Quentin had first dragged him there to spar and take Evan’s mind off his fears, Evan hadn’t quite been convinced. But eventually he’d seen the merits of it, and they’d begun sparring more and more –

God, they had kissed for the first time in this stupid room.

But he ought to be focusing, not dwelling on past thoughts of Evan. Quentin looked down from where he was levitating and hit a Sentinel before it could crash through Idie’s ice shield. She went on to attack another alongside Robert.

Focusing on Sentinels wasn't nearly as stupid as the younger kids in the school thought. True, they hadn’t faced a Sentinel attack in years, but they knew full well that they’d always reappear eventually, in one form or another. World governments consistently viewed them as the best weapon against mutants, what with their being designed with that sole purpose in mind. Who could rule out the possibility of new ones being constructed at any given moment?

No, the X-Men couldn't afford to get rusty. Not on this.

A noise from the ground, and Quentin looked down to see the doors slide open; first appeared Laura, then –

The costume fit tight about Daken’s chest, but the fabric covering his arms and legs was loose and baggy enough that it obscured his shape. It was black, of course – no, actually, no, not quite black – ninja-like, and the mask… It was, if Quentin wasn’t mistaken, the very same mask Maiko had worn all those years ago. It wasn’t just similar – no, it was clear even from a distance that the mask was _old_. It lent yet more authenticity to Daken’s performance as Akki. Quentin guessed, from the fit of the costume, that it was a copy; if he remembered correctly, Maiko was a little taller than Daken –

Quentin heard a warning shout from Billy, and dodged a giant Sentinel hand just in time; a spell brought it apart moments later. He flew for a while, feigning interest in the battle whilst keeping one ear on the exchange Jubilation was striking up with Daken.

“You're late.”

“I was washing my hair,” Daken countered, as Laura sprung into position.

“This isn't a game –”

“Far from me to imply that.” Daken strolled inside so leisurely that Jubilation could do nothing else than stop the program for a moment. “I'm aware, Lee, far more than you.” He probably didn't even want to be here; he probably would have preferred to stay in Madripoor with his children.

But he was more useful to their _ruse_ here. And so here he was.

Daken came to stand beside Laura, looking up at the freezed Sentinel nearest to the two of them.

“ _Sentinels?_ So old-fashioned.”

Colossus scoffed. Up in the observation room, Jubilation scoffed too, then added, “You don't need that mask.”

“It has _sentimental value_ ,” Daken shot back – but he took it off, nonetheless. He hung it on his side and rolled his shoulders. “So? What's the plan? Didn't you wish to _examine_ me?” He was looking up at the glass protecting the observation room, a smirk on his face – then the Sentinel near him sprung into action, an arm lowering quickly to hit him – and Daken dodged it, springing to the right, ending up near Colossus. The program hadn't restarted – Jubilation had just sent a single command.

Daken came to a halt, snapped his head up, a grin on his face. “Ah! _That's_ more like it, Lee!”

The program started again.

 

* * *

 

God, Daken had missed this. He had missed the action, the sheer _exhilaration_ of fighting. It was one thing to train merely to keep himself in shape – but oh, it was quite another to be on the field (albeit a virtual one), the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his body seeming almost to move of its own accord as his mind sung with freedom – he had missed this _so much_ . This was being _alive_ . He’d allowed himself to settle down, had taken to leaving the hard work with others. Oh, how much time had passed since he’d last sparred? Maiko was an adequate opponent, when she agreed and had time to train with him, but this – oh, _this_ . Fighting with people who weren’t worried about hurting him – that was what he’d _needed._

But, alongside the joy of coming into his own once more, Daken had his suspicions confirmed: his plan hadn’t worked. Indeed, his stunt seemed only to have exacerbated Quentin’s existing turmoil. The boy – _damn it,_ at least _do him the courtesy of calling him what he is –_ the _man_ hadn’t set to thinking that Daken was a cruel bastard, unworthy of losing a night of sleep over. No, he’d done the exact _opposite_ , probably mulling their conversation over again and again, playing out their encounter of five years ag o in his head – Daken could tell, because Quentin threw the saddest mortified puppy-dog eyes at him when he thought he wasn’t looking. He thought of Daken as some _fragile_ thing – it was written all over his face. This needed to _stop_ . Daken cursed himself for not being even crueler that day in Broo’s laboratory, far move incisive. Now he was left with this uncomfortable situation. Should he bear those looks, maintain distance from Quentin until the man stopped? Or should he talk to him again, hammer some contempt home, insult him in a more vicious manner? Should he _explain_ to him that –

No, that wouldn’t do. That would give _hope_ to Quentin. _I thought there was something_ , he’d said – he’d _sobbed_ , just after hurting Daken more than Daken had ever thought possible, just after leaving Daken shaken and bleeding on the floor in his own bedroom, just after tearing a hole in Daken’s chest. Young, maddening, fragile Quentin, so clueless it was ridiculous, so vicious without even _noticing._ Something? Didn’t he see that Daken had _destroyed_ it? He’d taken what was good in the strange relationship they had, and he’d twisted it into some malformed thing, had forced Quentin to follow him into a pit of ruin. He’d ruined everything. The very _first_ healthy relationship in his new life – before his children, before Laura, Kazuro, his men, _Logan_ – and he’d spoiled it. And he had thought, on that damned night as he held Quentin in his troubled sleep, that he might be able to salvage it somehow. Perhaps he’d be able to sit Quentin down and explain to the man that he’d not done anything wrong, that he hadn’t done anything to Daken, that it was – _complicated_ , but that Daken didn’t hold him at fault for _anything_.

But then Maiko had called him, and now – now his children _needed_ him, and he was going – damn it, he was going to _die_ soon, it was just a matter of time – and it was far simpler to do this... to act like this, to drive Quentin away, to burn the bridge.

But he hadn't done it effectively. He had been sloppy. He needed to put his mind to it, rethink a strategy, and do it _properly_. Sharp pang of guilt be damned.

He moved through the room, among the Sentinels, following Laura’s lead. The test Lee was subjecting him to made no sense. If she wanted evidence of how he worked in a team, she ought to have given _directions_ , not just throw him in the field and watch how he acted. The safest play Daken could see to make was to defer to Laura’s tactical decisions and see whose orders she followed – based on this, Colossus appeared to be the field leader. In Tokyo, it had been Lee herself. Did they take turns in this? The Avengers had more discipline, at least. He remembered the days he’d counted himself as an Avenger, even if it had been a ridiculous sham; a lifetime ago, a play at following orders, just to see what would come of it. He’d been so young and stupid, still so _childish_ , so caught up in his own anger. So bent on making Logan’s life a living hell – how the hell had Logan put up with him?

Colossus grabbed Laura and _threw_ her at a Sentinel, then he turned towards Daken. He recognised the move, but he had no intention to submit himself to it.

“In your dreams, _tovarich_ ,” he spat, and then he swung low, danced between two Sentinels’ feet until he found himself on the other side. He used the momentum to hurl a knife upwards, straight towards the Sentinel’s memory circuits. Laura would thank him for it –

A crackling sound, and he ducked just in time as a stream of _flames_ rushed but inches over his head, singeing the tips of his hair as his ponytail whipped through the air. He turned and saw Okonkwo, her flaming hand still raised offensively.

“You ruined my hair,” he joked – but she scoffed and turned and attacked another Sentinel. Oh, so – it appeared it _hadn't_ been an accident. Did the child want to play? She was probably angry with him on behalf of Quentin.

She was right to be.

Speaking of which, where was he? Still up in the air, mercilessly crushing Sentinel’s heads with his telekinesis. Was he not overqualified for this sort of work? Shouldn’t he have been able to end the whole farce with a snap of his fingers? He was the Phoenix, after all –

Another crackling sound and – oh, this was going to get tedious. Daken sprung to the right to avoid the incoming flames, and threw a knife into a Sentinel’s leg, it landing just a mere _inch_ from Okonkwo’s head. “Do you have a problem, girl?”

“ _Oya!_ ” Lee's voice cut through the room, clear and sharp. “Stop immediately!”

Okonkwo snarled, and all pretense of her attacks having been accidental vanished; she lifted her flaming hand and commanded a torrent of flames in Daken’s direction. He scoffed, was about to dodge it – when a shield of ice materialized directly in front of him. He looked up, saw Iceman on one of his ice paths and cocked his head in thanks. The man shrugged and kept moving, his robes swirling behind him. The whole _ancient mage_ look was kind of preposterous –

He had spaced out. “– unacceptable,” Lee was saying, “Oya, get out.”

“But he –”

“ _Now._ We're just enrolling a student, relieve him and his mother from Mindee, give them a tour. _Cool your head_ , Oya.”

“Lis–”

“ _NOW!_ ” He could almost imagine Lee baring her fangs in annoyance. He could begin to like her, maybe.

But he would never call her Wolverine.

Okonkwo relented and left the Danger Room in a huff of contemptuous rage.

The simulation began anew.

It was a long affair, Lee apparently set on breaking them – or perhaps the X-Men’s sessions were always this long. Either way, Daken was aching all over when Lee finally put an end to the simulation. Glancing around, Daken saw that he wasn’t the only one afflicted with physical exhaustion – even Laura was staggering a little.

It was a good ache though. It had been so long, _too_ long, in truth. His muscles shook and a dizziness was upon him but it was so _good_.

_Why did I stop? Why did I settle down?_

For the kids. Everything, _anything_ for them –

“Woah, woah, there, Daken! Easy!” Laura's voice, and he was leaning heavily on her, no, falling – she had caught him. “Are you all right?” she murmured in his ear, and he snorted softly.

“Where would I be without you?” he kissed her cheek, inhaled sharply, and straightened up.

Quentin was staring at him, hovering just an inch above the ground, but looked elsewhere as soon as Daken's eyes met his. They had been glistening with concern.

 _Damn it. Damn it_ all.

Daken scoffed, turned his back on Quentin. He had to put an end to this.

Colossus was focused on him too, his interest more to do with strategy. He nodded at Daken – just the tiniest movement of his head – indicating that he’d liked what he’d just seen. It was an acknowledgment of worth, not camaraderie of any sort. Perhaps later he would question Daken as to why he’d refused to perform Logan’s old trick, that ridiculous, self-destructive move. If they wanted a berserker, they could damn well look elsewhere – if they were expecting a Wolverine carbon copy, impulsive and hotheaded, they were going to find themselves sorely disappointed. Besides, they already _had_ a Wolverine, did they not?

The doors slid open and Lee appeared, Broo in tow.

“That was – good, actually,” she said, getting straight to the point. There was surprise in her voice. Daken smirked. Had she thought that he was going to be difficult, a stubborn lone wolf like Logan? She didn’t know him, did she? She had nothing but prejudice to go on. The two of them had never even met before – their paths had briefly run parallel when he’d been keeping an eye on her refuge for ex-mutants, waiting for Logan to show up, but that was the extent of it. “Are you alright?” she added, brows furrowed. Daken asked himself what state he must’ve been in for her to ask such a question. He surely wasn't the only one dead tired from the simulation!

He sure was the oldest, though.

“Perfect, Lee.”

She nodded, then looked around. “Alright, let’s call it a day. Thanks everyone.”

Groaning, Iceman was the first to leave, followed closely by Kaplan and Quentin. The latter practically fled the room.

Rogue stayed. She’d been lingering in the background ever since the team’s return from Madripoor, hanging around as if she wanted to talk to Daken but was still unsure. Laura had told him how shocked she’d been at Eike’s revelation. Maybe she thought she was entitled to a say in the matter – Eike was, after all, a last link to Mystique. The ruse must’ve sparked some anger in Rogue.

“You ain't using your claws,” she said eventually, and those were the first words she had spoken to him ever since he had begun roaming the campus.

“Yes,” he smiled at her, “What of it?”

“Why?” It wasn't her voice, but Lee's; she had joined the three of them. Laura moved slightly so that the vampire could stand closer to them.

“Akki doesn't use claws, Lee,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Your fighting style is quite different, too,” Broo said as he approached. Had he been comparing Daken’s movement earlier with older videos of him? “You keep your distance.”

“Yes.” Daken clicked his tongue, mildly annoyed. Of course he kept his distance. One false move and he would be gone. He was resigned to his ultimate fate, not _stupid_. “Is that a problem? Did I not live up to your expectations?”

“Oh, no,” said Lee, “It was good. You may be of use after all.”

“Oh, I'm _so_ relieved.”

Lee cocked an eyebrow. She didn't appear annoyed with him, not anymore; she must have come to terms with the inevitability of his being there, or perhaps she was planning something; he should have to keep a close eye on her.

“You can go,” she said, her tone quite final, and he left with Laura, the voices of the remaining three fading as they distanced themselves from the room.

Damn, he was breathless. Had he asked too much of himself? He ought to have been more careful. He decided to retire early, take a shower, _rest_ . If the combat session was really taking such a toll on him, he needed to contain the damage and avoid others noticing. Especially Laura, who was staring up at him worriedly. He grinned down at her. _Damn it all, am I really this old?_

“That was fun, sister dear.”

No, no, it was just that he wasn't accustomed to do these things anymore. That was all; he just had to find his rhythm again.

“Are you okay?” she asked, furrowing her brow, and he shoved her playfully on the arm as they walked.

“Of course.”

She, too, had been worn out by the simulation, but now she was better, her healing factor taking care of it. She was young; she was at her peak.

He wasn't _that_ old though, his body didn't show his real age. His healing factor was creating problems, yes, but he didn't look like a eighty year old, for God's sake, he looked in his prime!

He told her that he’d see her in the morning, and she bit her lip – probably wondering whether to advise him to eat – but she said nothing, apparently deciding against it. They walked in silence to the room Daken had been assigned – the one just by Broo’s quarters, as so many years before, to avoid Daken’s influencing his neighbours with pheromones. Broo was, in fact, immune. Daken wondered whether the school had been equipped with sensors too.

It was still early – only dinner time, really – so Laura, after a last worried glance and a “good night, then,” left. Daken entered his room; he’d been pleasantly surprised by it. It was acceptable; wide enough, with a nice private bathroom he hadn’t expected to find there. Hell, he’d been worried about enduring the horrors of a communal bathroom – he valued his privacy far too much to be subjected to such a thing.

His muscles ached. Had he been at home, he would have taken a long bath, but he contented himself here with a shower, the water running hot over his shoulders. He stayed under the blessed rush until the water ran cold, and then, as he dried himself, he took a look in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes. God, he needed to _sleep_. All his nerves were screaming, his muscles crying for mercy. He ran his fingers through his long hair and decided to let it dry naturally – blow-drying was tediously long, and he had neither the patience nor the energy at that moment to bother with it. A bed had never seemed more alluring, not even for sex. He had so much to do, had to devise a strategy regarding Quentin and reach out to his children – He hadn’t heard from them since the morning, when he’d wished them goodnight – oh, it was going to take some time for him to get used to the effect timezones were having on their interactions –

Daken lay on the bed, sighed contentedly as he settled into the comfortable embrace of the covers. Maybe, just _maybe_ he’d get a good night’s rest this night –

He woke up and he was cold, so he grabbed the duvet to cover himself better. There was someone in the room. The scent was known to him; but he couldn't quite place it. Then he opened his eyes – it was pitch black, what time was it? –

Eike was standing beside the bed. The child was just looking down at him, motionless in the darkness. “Monkey? You can't sleep?” Daken blinked blearily. The child had been woken up by a nightmare, probably; thankfully he hadn't woken up _screaming_ this time. “You want to sleep with me, sweetheart? Come here.” Daken slid towards the centre of the bed to give Eike space, simultaneously reaching out to remove the covers. The cold reminded him that he needed to wear something, too; he would have to cover himself before he got up and walked to the dresser –

It was when his back encountered empty space instead of the rest of the bed that he remembered that this _wasn't_ his bed, this _wasn't_ his home – and the child standing beside his bed most certainly wasn't Eike, Eike was older, Eike was in Madripoor –

Then the child attacked.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next: That's not Eike. Don't be ridiculous. Ne's in Madripoor, ne's safe, Eike's safe – Eike's bigger, ne's not a child, I know how my child looks like, I –_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING! PLEASE PAY ATTENTION!**
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> Mentions of **child abuse** throughout the chapter; implied **incest** ; child **death**
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> **Thanks for your attention**

8.

“And is it worth the wait,  
all this killing time?  
Are you strong enough to stand,  
protecting both your heart and mine?”

Florence + the Machine –  _Heavy in your arms_

 

 

The attacking child's hand surged towards his face. Daken avoided the hit just barely, rolling out of the bed just in time to see the pillow lacerated by the child's claws. He leapt to his feet, but disorientation was getting the better of him; it was too dark, his hair was in his face, and where was the kid –

His vision adjusted in time for him to see his attacker coming at him from the dark. Daken hopped backwards quickly, widening the distance so that the child's pounce missed. And the attacker  _was_ a child; he looked so like Eike – blue, with short red hair and glowing yellow eyes – but it  _wasn't_ Eike. No. This kid had much pointier features. Daken cursed himself for being fooled so easily. This was just a bloody  _shapeshifter_ .

And he was set on keeping Daken busy. The attacker jumped, twisted in the air and aimed a kick at Daken's chest. It connected, sent Daken staggering backwards, but Daken had prepared, and he seized the shapeshifter's ankle and hurled him across the room. The attacker hit the floor hard, but rolled and was on his feet in an instant, teeth bared, his clawed fingers hooked like talons.

Dammit – even if his likeness to Eike was off, it was still striking and disquieting.

“Reveal yourself,” Daken growled, even if he knew his plea wouldn't be met. This bastard had obviously chosen his appearance for the _exact_ purpose of distracting and throwing him off.

He had to  _ignore_ it and focus on stopping him. Whoever it really was, they were trying to  _kill_ him, and such intentions would be met in kind. Daken would fight first and worry about his attacker's  identity later.

The shapeshifter moved with impossible speed, leaping from the furniture, jumping from wall to wall like a damn monkey, striking quickly with clawed hands, and Daken found himself losing ground –  stop _ thinking about Eike, dammit, counterattack,  _ hit _ him! _ – then the shapeshifter twirled, and something sprouted from his lower back – was it a  _ tail _ ? -

He was too quick, or Daken too distracted by his appearance to duck, and the newly revealed tail slammed into his chest, winded him and sent him flying backwards. Daken hit the wall, felt cool air behind him – the window, he was at the window, the window was  _ open _ –

He was on the second floor.

As Daken staggered, trying to keep his balance, the shapeshifter grabbed one of Daken's knives from the nightstand and threw it, aiming squarely for Daken’s chest.

There was no time to think.

Daken dropped out of the window, unsheathed his claws, ready to slam them into the brickwork so that he could lower himself down easily –

\- but he wasn’t quick enough in pulling his lower half after him, and pain spiked through his right calf. The bastard had stabbed him. Daken yelled, kicked upwards, and felt a twinge of satisfaction as his heel struck hard against his opponent's jaw.

He took advantage of his attacker being momentarily stunned and continued with his escape. He backflipped in the air so that he was parallel to the wall and set his claws against the brickwork, allowing the painful friction to slow his descent.

He hit the ground ungracefully and had no time to catch his breath, for the shapeshifter had tailed him without hesitation and was upon him again. They rolled in the grass, and Daken could only focus on avoiding swipes from those clawed hands, the quick flashes of nail, the glimmer and snap of bared teeth. This was absurd – and he had to  _stop_ thinking of Eike, this wasn’t Eike, even if the resemblance between them was uncanny. He needed to counterattack, he needed –

He needed  _help_ .

He needed help, but none was forthcoming; it was the dead of night, and no alarm had sounded. All he could do was shout and hope someone heard –

As it turned out, there was no need.

For the shapeshifter was dragged off of him, and the trespasser turned on his own attacker with a snarl. In the dark, Daken caught sight of red eyes and heard the beating of insect wings. Broo. He must've heard the ruckus from his room, bless his reduced sleep cycle.

Unfortunately, Broo was as taken aback by the shapeshifter's appearance as Daken had been, and he dropped his guard.

“Shapeshifter!” Daken shouted, scrambling to get back on his feet – but the bastard had already attacked, Broo's cry of pain echoing across the yard. If nothing else, someone surely must've heard that –

The shapeshifter was back on him in an instant, aiming to slam his tail into Daken's abdomen again; the attack struck true, and Daken was thrown against a tree, his back cracking painfully against the solid bark. Gasping for air, he saw the shapeshifter rushing at him like a fury even through his blurred vision.  _ It's not Eike, it's not – _

He didn't think. He struck upwards as the shapeshifter leapt at him, and his claws tore through the flesh just between the attacker's deltoid and pectoralis. The bastard screamed, and it was almost childlike - eerily so. An involuntary shiver ran down Daken's spine.  _ It's not a child. It's a fucking bastard. _

“It's  _ over _ ,” Daken snarled at his would-be assailant, that now hung from his claws, still in his childlike form. “Surrender.”

“Backup's coming,” came a weak voice from nearby. Daken felt a wave of relief rush over him: Broo was alive.

“Who are you?” Daken snarled, glaring into the shapeshifter's childish face, tried to look past those yellow eyes, those familiar features. “Who sent you?  _ Change back! Change _ – ah!”

Sharp pain blossomed up his side; the bastard had attacked again, claws ripping through his flesh. The blood pumped freely from the wound, his insides screamed with agony -

His reaction was instinctual; Daken's scythed up with his free arm, his claws unsheathing to tear into the soft flesh beneath the shapeshifter's chin. They pierced so far into the attacker’s head that they grated the inside of their skull, and then the points broke through bone and reappeared, surging out of the shapeshifter's red hair.

Eike.

Not Eike.

The shapeshifter was impaled on his claws, hanging from them like a ragdoll, finally unmoving, yellow eyes void. Dead. He was dead.

Eike –

Not. Eike.

Daken felt bile rushing up his gullet, but he swallowed the vomit down and threw the shapeshifter's corpse to the ground. He didn’t want to look at it. He  _couldn’t_ . Daken bent down, trying to catch his breath, a hand pressed over the wound to stem the flow of blood. The cuts were deep. Somewhere close by, he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Broo?” Daken called, eyes squeezed shut against the pain and frustration. God. He ought to have let the shapeshifter live – now how would they figure out who they were and who'd sent them? “Broo?” No answer. Daken gritted his teeth, straightened up and searched for the Brood's figure in the darkness. He found him prone on the ground. “Are you alright?”

“He dislocated my arm,” Broo hissed. Daken pushed himself off the tree and limped towards the alien. Broo lifted his head sharply as Daken approached, and bared his teeth. “Don't –”

“It's fine,” Daken said, pushing his hair out of his face as he knelt stiffly beside Broo. “May I touch you?”

“We don't kill.” Broo was looking out to where the shapeshifter’s corpse was laid out, still and unmoving in the grass. “We _don't_ kill!”

“Well, it was me or him,” Daken said sharply. He didn't wait for Broo's permission, reaching out to run his free hand over the alien's skin. It was rough to the touch. Daken clenched his teeth. “This supposed backup?”

“I told them that the aggressor had been dealt with,” Broo muttered. “They're checking the entrances now.”

Of course. He must've been in telepathic contact with Quentin.

“Well, tell him to send someone,” Daken said. Broo's wings jolted.

“Yes. I'll – tell him.”

Daken's hand stilled by Broo's shoulder. “I haven't enough knowledge of your physiology to help you.” The arm hung strangely; Daken had briefly considered relocating it, but he had no idea how Brood's skeletal structures worked – hell, he didn't know if Broo had bones like himself or whether his plated skin was essentially an exoskeleton. He didn't want to risk accidentally ripping the alien's arm off instead of fixing it.

“It can wait. It's not life-threatening.” Broo tore his gaze off the place where the shapeshifter lay, and looked at him – his red eyes glistened suddenly. “You're bleeding!”

“Oh, so _now_ you've noticed?” Daken cocked an eyebrow. “What is _wrong_ with your sense of smell?”

“Oh dear,” Broo shifted slowly to a sitting position, cocked his huge head, raised his functioning arm. “May I?”

Daken looked at his side. His hand was covered in blood. “Leave it. It'll heal.”

“But –”

“You _know_ that if I remove my hand now I will bleed to death. It's closing, the spleen's reknitting itself.” Fortunately. 

“Yes.” Broo let his hand fall. “I won't ask you how you know it's the spleen.”

“Not if you want to sleep again, no,” Daken grinned. Broo looked nauseous. “Thank you,” he added quietly, and Broo's wings flickered briefly.

“It was nothing.”

Daken shook his head. “No. If you hadn't shown up, he would have killed me.”

Broo was silent for a while. Eventually, quietly, he said: “For them to take on that form - that was a revolting trick.”

“Yes.” Daken clenched his jaw. He would find out who'd been behind everything, and then he'd make them _pay_. Painfully.

An awkward silence arose, but it was soon broken by the approach of their rescue party. Laura was the first to reach them, and she was beside Daken in an instant, fussing over him as Rogue knelt beside Broo. Lee loomed a few feet away, and Iceman had joined them too, garbed in characteristically awful pajamas.

Iceman shifted on his feet. “Um. You're naked.”

“Yes.” Daken rolled his eyes. There were rather more important things happening than his lack of clothing. “And your security leaves much to be desired.”

Rogue cleared her throat. “He meant that there are  _ kids _ here.” She was helping Broo to his feet. “They're awake – we'll need to give you something to –”

“There's _a breach in your security_ ,” Daken spoke slowly, “Your kids will be less traumatised by a _penis_ and more by an assassin on the loose.”

“There was no breach,” Lee said,approaching them. “Cypher's on it, and I have every telepath on hand checking the perimeter. We're clear.”

“He got in somehow –”

“Yes. We could have asked him.” Lee's voice could have cut the air.

“I was defending myself, Lee,” Daken snapped. “I'm sure Broo told you?”

“You could have used non-lethal –”

“ _He disguised himself as my child_ ,” he snarled, voice rising, and Laura stiffened. “ _Forgive me_ if I wasn't thinking clearly.”

Lee bit her lower lip. “Broo?”

“Yes,” the Brood said quietly. “He looked like Eike – like a _kid_.”

Rogue hissed. “ _Bastard_ .” Iceman winced in sympathy, and then walked away, in the direction of the body.

Lee shook her head. “I'm sorry. But we needed to interrogate him –”

“Why? He tried to kill _me_ , not you.”

“He got into the school unnoticed! I can't have assassins running around, trying to kill you. Do you have any idea who could have sent him?”

The list of potential enemies could be…  _expansive_ . He was able, at least, to strike Japan off – no one there would dare carry out such an attack – but he'd upset a lot of people in his fifty years of activity prior to his taking the country. There was also another possibility – perhaps some other government out there had chosen to hit Madripoor through him?

“I don't know,” Daken shrugged. He flexed his fingers over the wound on his side. The spleen had healed, thankfully, and the wounds were slowly, ever so slowly, closing up. “But we're looking at someone who's working off of information which is out of date or incorrect. The shapeshifter's disguise was off – the details were all wrong. They must've been going off of a photograph taken from afar, or a second-hand description.”

Lee nodded briskly. “Alright. We’ll collect him and regroup inside. Robert!” she called. “Go and grab some clothes for Daken.”

“I'm happy to wait if it means I'll get to wear something that isn't utterly hideous,” Daken said, wrinkling his nose at the prospect of wearing any of Iceman's clothes again; the man's fashion sense was horrifying. “And look, Lee, I'm sure my cock wouldn't be the first –”

“Guys?” Iceman's voice reached them, wavering slightly, and it sent shivers down Daken's spine. The man was rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the corpse of the shapeshifter.

“What?” said Lee.

“If he's a shapeshifter, shouldn't he have turned back to his _real_ form now that he's dead?”

Daken was chilled to the bone. He seized Laura's arm and got to his feet, grunting as his healing organs shifted painfully. New blood pumped out of the closing wound, and he pressed his hand against it once more.

“Then he's still alive,” he said. That could be the only reasonable explanation. He wouldn't – couldn't - consider the alternative. “Be careful.”

“Daken,” Laura said quietly. “I can't hear any heartbeat.”

“No,” Daken said. A child? “There must be.” A child that looked like Eike? “We're just too far away, we –” His head spun. Someone that looked like Eike?

“He's dead –” Iceman said, kneeling beside the corpse, but Daken couldn't hear him anymore. He approached the body quickly, unaware of everything around him, save for the muted voices of the others around him. Nothing mattered, nothing –

Daken reached the corpse, fell to his knees, demanded that someone bring him a light. The others obliged, and he looked closely at the shapeshifter. It  _was_ a child. They were  _dead_ , and they  _hadn’t_ changed back. It was a  _child_ , its face contorted in pain, its snarl outliving its host. Blue. Red hair, void yellow eyes –

He couldn't breathe.

_That's not Eike. Don't be ridiculous. Ne's in Madripoor, ne's safe, Eike's safe – Eike's bigger, ne's not a child, I know what my child looks like, I –_

But did he? No. He didn't know what Eike’s  _true_ form looked like, not really –

_But this is a child, and Eike is. Not. A. Child._

_And Eike would never attack me. Unless he got kidnapped. Drugged. Triggered by something?_

_Don't be ridiculous_ , he told himself as he tried to breathe,  _Don't be ridiculous, if something happened Maiko would have called, Eike's safe, Eike's_ safe _–_

Mystique calling him, years ago. Her breathless voice,  _They've taken Eike_ . The world falling apart.

“Ah –” he choked out. Laura was beside him, squeezed his arm. He realised he'd tended a hand towards the child. “A – a phone. A phone!” He looked around, the world spinning. “Give me a phone!” His rational mind knew this was ridiculous, knew it even as Rogue gave him her phone and he snatched it from her hands. He knew it was ridiculous because Laura was saying, ever so quietly: “Daken, he doesn't smell like Eike, it's _not_ Eike,” - he knew it was ridiculous even as he tapped in the number and put the phone to his ear – but if the others judged him, then damn them all. Who out of them had ever been woken up by the mother of their child telling them that their flesh and blood had been kidnapped? Which of them had had their child taken and tortured for _days?_ No. None of them could understand –

The call was answered. “Who is this?”

He  _sobbed_ and bent over in relief, forehead almost touching the child's corpse. _Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you –_

“ _Papa?_ What's going on?”

Daken realised he was murmuring those words,  _thank you, thank you, thank you_ , over and over again, and he caught himself. “Hey,” he forced his voice to be calm, “Hey, nothing. I just wanted to hear from you, monkey. How's your day been?” Laura squeezed his arm again. He raised his head, eyes locking briefly with Iceman's. The man looked away, not wanting to encroach on such a private moment.

“Papa, it's _the middle of the night_ in New York.” Eike's voice emanated worry. “Are you okay?”

“Ah-ah.” Daken fixed his gaze on the body in front of him. “I just couldn't sleep and I thought to call you.” The nausea was passing; he tried to think clearly. “I'm sorry I bothered you, sweetheart. I'll call you back in the morning, all right? Give my love to Maiko.”

“But –” he hung up before Eike had a chance to say anymore. His reaction had been so irrational – but he'd been so afraid, so terrified as the events of years before had surfaced in his mind. He cleared his throat, looked around at the assembled X-Men. The _pity_ on Lee's face was nauseating. Laura squeezed his arm again, reassuring him with her presence. He took her hand.

“I'm fine,” he forced himself to say.

Broo came to kneel beside the body, his working hand hovering over it. He hesitated a moment, then closed the  _ child' _ s eyes.

It was a child. He had killed a  _child_ .

But how could Daken have known that? The fool had tried to  _kill_ him. Why had he done it? Who had sent him? He couldn't have been alone, surely –

Lee asked what everybody was thinking. “Daken, who is this kid?”

“I have no idea.” A _kid_ sent to do an _assassin's_ work. It was Romulus' style – Daken remembered being sent on similar missions countless times, and the thought made him seethe. Who would use a child in such a barbaric way, who could –

“I meant – he's obviously connected to Mystique.”

“We don't know that.”

“Daken –” Rogue motioned with her hands towards the child. “ _Look_ at him.” He _was_ looking at him. He didn't want to think about the implications. He looked less than ten years old, he could even have easily been _eight_. The implications were –

Rogue continued. “Is it possible – was mom pregnant? Did she ever have other children? Do you know that?”

“No.” She hadn't been pregnant. He saw her frequently, he would have _smelled_ it if she had been pregnant.

“Do you realise what this means?” Lee asked coldly. “If this is Mystique's child, then who brought him up? Who chose _you_ to be its target? If Mystique _is_ related to him –”

“She _wasn't_ pregnant.”

“If that's the case,” Broo said quietly, “If you are sure that Mystique wasn't pregnant, I – I fear that there's another explanation. It explains his age, his appearance –”

“He _doesn't_ look like Eike!” Daken said forcefully, “He _doesn't_. Look at him, his features are far pointier. Look at the ears! Eike didn't look like this at this age. Laura? Laura, tell them.” He looked at her. She was rigid; the implications had dawned on her too. Eike had been held in a _medical research_ facility. Ne had been experimented on – they had had access to nir _tissues_. Daken had destroyed everything, the facility and S.H.I.E.L.D. had been shut down, but what if some doctor had managed to escape? What if this kid in front of them was a –

“– clone,” Broo was talking. “It's possible –”

“No, no, no,” Daken snarled. “Are you listening to me? Eike has _not_ been cloned. This child looks _nothing_ like Eike, I'm telling you –”

“Memory is a strange thing,” murmured Lee, “It fades with time. It's normal not to remember exactly what your kid looked like years ago. I’d need photos to remind me how Shogo looked at this age.”

“Well, I don't know how your memory _works_ , Lee, but mine works better than that. He doesn't even _smell_ like Eike!” He inhaled sharply, to prove his point.

And he froze.

In his room, as he'd woken up, he'd recognised the scent. There'd been no mistaking it; he knew it from somewhere, even if he hadn't been able to pinpoint its origin straight off.

But now he was awake and lucid, and he knew the smell. It wasn't Eike's – but he could discern this child's parents in the scent.  _Mystique_ .

And –

“Creed,” he exhaled. “He stinks of Victor Creed. His father was Creed.”

“Alright,” Lee murmured after a few moments of tense silence. “Alright. But you said – you said Mystique never had another child?”

“She didn't.” And she'd _never_ have courted Creed again. She'd kept her distance, cut all ties with the monster – “Maybe they… experimented with _Creed's_ body. Maybe they took his body and Mystique's and created some – some –” How could they? How could those animals have _dared_ to do something so foul?

“Or –” Broo spoke up, and his voice was weak. His heartbeat was fast - he was nervous. “I think we should go inside.” The alien had something eating at his mind – that much was clear. “I need to run an autopsy.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Lee.

“I need to run an autopsy,” repeated Broo. “I'm a _scientist_ , I need evidence.”

“To corroborate _what_ theory?” Daken snarled. The Brood had made a hypothesis. A hypothesis that he didn't want to share; that meant that Broo didn't want them to hear it – that he thought it could be shocking.

“I prefer to wait –”

“This is _not_ Mystique's child!” Daken snapped. He was getting too heated, but the thought of Mystique being so _reckless_ as to reach out to Creed – knowing that the monster was bound to harm Eike – made him seethe. “He was _created_ somehow, created artificially, constructed in a damn _tank_. Mystique would have _never_ touched Creed –”

Rogue knelt beside him and  _put a hand on his shoulder_ . “I'm sorry. I didn't know that you two –”

Daken let out a short, derisive bark of laughter. The woman thought he was jealous – oh, how  _priceless_ . Daken shoved her hand away.

“Spare me the sentiment,” he said shortly. He turned to Broo again – the alien's wings were flapping in an agitated manner. “This child was _made_. _Yes_ , a test will tell you that his genetic material comes from Sabretooth and Mystique. But I can assure you that he was _created_. There - there could be others,” the realisation dawned on him. The thought was horrifying. Other kids? Other children, made and forced to be weapons, as he and Laura had been –

Lee hissed. “If that's the case, we need to investigate. Broo? Is there a way to  determine whether this boy was artificially conceived?” She winced as she said it, glanced apologetically at Laura, and Daken realized that he'd been far too rough himself in his wording about cloning. His words must've hurt his sister. “Or if he was birthed naturally?”

“I think it's a girl, actually.” Broo said. He closed his eyes. “And I really, really need to run my tests before we talk on this any further.” He opened his eyes and looked to Lee. “I mean it. I don't think _anyone_ will be prepared for this, assuming my theory is correct.”

“What do you mean?” Iceman asked. Broo turned to look at him, and as he did, he threw a brief glance at Daken, who felt his blood run cold.

“What do you mean?” Daken echoed Iceman's question. He hadn't liked the flash of _pity_ that he'd seen in Broo's red eyes. He hadn't liked it at all. “Broo? What do you mean?”

“I can't –”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” snarled Daken. “What do you mean?”

Broo glanced up at Lee, glanced around in the darkness; he sighed heavily. “There is – there is the off chance that this  _is_ , in a sense, a clone of Eike's.”

“In a sense.” Daken clenched his teeth. “You're saying that they cloned Eike, but put –” he felt ill at the thought, nausea hitting him, bile surging up his throat. “– put _Creed's genetic material_ into the mix?” It was disgusting. Horrid. That fucking _animal_ had tortured, _destroyed_ his child and they had decided to mix their DNA?

“I'm _saying_ that I need to run tests,” Broo said forcefully. “This is unnecessary as of now. I don't want to upset you. Can we please go inside and –”

“You don't want to _upset_ me?” Daken laughed. Oh, it was just too ridiculous and unnerving. “Do you know what _upsets_ me? Being lied to. Things being kept hidden.”

“I'm merely saying that I don't have any proof, and I'd prefer to have it before –”

“ _Before?_ Broo, let's be clear.” Daken stared hard at the Brood. Beside him, Rogue shifted uncomfortably on her knees. “You don't want to upset _me_. But this child's existence doesn't affect _me_ personally. He is – or _she_ –“ Why was Broo so convinced the shapeshifter was female? Why was he so convinced that they were connected to Eike? “- is obviously an experiment. But now, suddenly, you seem convinced that she is somehow _linked_ to Eike. _Why?_ I want an answer _now_.”

“I'm not sure –”

“I don't care if you're not sure, I won't be _lied_ to. I won't have _anything_ kept from me, do you hear me?” _Not anymore_. Those days were far behind, buried with Romulus.

Broo closed his eyes and sighed heavily. The air itself seemed to still; nobody dared say a word as Broo gathered his thoughts. The body between them was like a nightmare, a promise of agony. Just a child. A little clone. A nobody. Had he even had a name? Why had Daken been so rash ? Why had he killed the poor thing?

“I need to run a DNA test to be sure,” Broo began. Daken didn't interrupt him this time. He sensed that the Brood was building up to something, preparing to reveal something awful. Shivers travelled down Daken's spine. No, he'd made a mistake in demanding to be told – he didn't want to hear, didn't _want_ to – “But I think it's possible that this child was cloned from Eike's female gonads.”

Daken stared at the alien, stunned. From Eike's female gonads? Nir ovaries?

_They looked down, and they saw that I'm special, and they took s-s-something, but that didn't hurt._

“We were never able to determine what they had taken,” Daken heard Broo's voice as if from far, far away, and was vaguely aware that Laura was squeezing his arm, but he could only stare at the corpse in front of him. “Eike couldn't explain clearly. But we do know they – she was able to describe where – where had the instruments been – been inserted. Daken?” Broo added softly.

Yes, he remembered every single word Eike had said, every single moment burned in his memory forever. Every tear ne had shed as ne spoke, every cut recounted. Daken had inflicted every single one of those cuts on the General Williams, after all.

“Yes,” he managed to articulate, and he couldn't recognise his own voice. Laura was a presence at his side, firm, silent. This possibility must be tearing her apart, too, and yet here she was – sustaining him. “I'm listening.”

He felt Rogue shift away, go to her feet.

Broo continued. “Again, this is just a theory – but it is the one that has the most weight behind it. It's not impossible that the facility had already developed the clone when we saved Eike – and, if not, then by the time you attacked the place, the process was almost certainly in motion.”

It made sense; yes. It made perfect sense. The timing fitted.

No. It didn't make sense. Not how Broo was selling it. Daken was not an  _idiot._

“Why a girl?” he asked. Broo’s wings jolted; Daken wasn't looking at him, but he heard the familiar thump of the alien's insect wings disturbing the still air. “You seem quite certain that the child is – was – female. You're sure that they took the genetic material from Eike's ovaries and that this child was a _girl_. But they had access to the _entirety_ of Eike's body, and Eike's a hermaphrodite.”

“Yes,” Broo exhaled, defeated. “Eike is a hermaphrodite.”

“And you haven't yet explained Creed's scent. This is not a clone of Eike's, this is some _hybrid_ they made from Creed and –”

“Eike is a _hermaphrodite_ ,” repeated Broo, enunciating clearly. “Daken. _One_ of the causes of hermaphroditism is two fertilized ova fusing –”

It was then that Daken understood what Broo was getting at. The thought was  _vile_ , so horrifying that Daken could taste vomit in his mouth, and he launched himself at Broo, caught the alien by his dislocated arm. Broo screamed, but Daken was heedless of the threat of the X-Men pouncing on him. All he wanted was to hurt Broo, quite badly, for his insinuation – he wanted to wash the Brood's mouth with his own blood.

“Eike is _my child_ ,” he growled, fingers digging into Broo's arm. The alien winced, but he locked eyes with Daken, didn't look away, and said, in a quiet, controlled voice:

“Don't attack him, I'm fine.”

Daken  could feel the X-Men hovering nearby, their hearts racing. Nobody moved – everyone stilled in this ridiculous, obscene tableau, the kid's tortured body some sort of offering between him and Broo. Daken was hurting Broo, but the alien wouldn't even react. As if he thought he deserved such treatment as retribution for what he was telling Daken. Slowly, carefully, Daken released Broo's arm.

“No,” he said, the word falling from his lips like a prayer. Was he begging? “My child…”

Broo nodded. “I'm  _not_ disputing that, Daken.”

“My –” he lowered his head.

“Yes.”

“Creed – _Creed_ _–_ ” had Mystique known? Had she at least suspected? She _had_ to.

“It's just a theory,” Broo repeated gently, “Shapeshifters' bodies work differently from ours. It's still possible that this child _has_ been created _artificially_.” Why say it now, as if that could change the sheer horror of what he had already said? “But it _could_ have happened, if Mystique had been with the both of you within a short span of time –”

“She did.” They had spent _weeks_ together in the same _building_. She had played her games, and that day – that damn day – she had feigned concern, _comforted_ Daken , then jumped back into Creed's bed. She and Creed had been at it near constantly back then, so much so that they'd been sure that the child she'd been carrying was Creed's.

And now it appeared that it was. For a  _half._ And Creed had –

_No. No, no, no, I_ refuse – 

“No,” his voice came out strangled. “No. It's an experiment. It's _no more_ than an experiment.”

“I need to do my tests,” Broo said gently, as if he were talking to a damn child, and Daken growled.

“No.” _No, no, I don't want to know, Eike doesn't deserve this, Eike doesn't deserve this, my child, my child, my –_

“I need –” Broo hesitated, “Daken, I'll need Eike's DNA –”

“ _No!_ ” Daken snarled, “Fucking no. I won't _subject_ my child to this.”

“Daken –”

“I said _no!_ ” he snarled, and Broo winced. “You _know_ what Creed did to Eike. You know perfectly well!”

“Yes,” Broo said quietly, but Daken didn't let him continue.

“Even if your tests prove you wrong – even the mere _thought_ of this would be torture. Don't you see it?”

“Yes, I know,” Broo exhaled. “But –”

“ _But?_ ” Daken repeated, incredulous. “There can be no but. This kid was created in some other way and that's _it_.”

“We need to know,” Lee said. “Daken, I'm sorry, but we _need_ to know where this child came from. Because it's quite different if Mystique slept with Creed and gave birth to this kid and so there's only _one_ of him, or if –”

“No.”

“We _need_ to know if it's a clone. You know that.” Yes, he knew that. That didn’t change the fact that this was all wrong – but when had life ever been good to him? It seemed that, for every advance he made towards peace of mind, trauma and pain was waiting to drive him back – and now that pain was coming for his children, too.

_Eike doesn't deserve the pain that this would bring,_ _ne_ doesn't. _I'll shield nem, I can shield nem._

“We know _already_ that it was genetically engineered, because Mystique would have never had sex with Creed again. Not when she –” he caught himself. _Not when she knew that Creed would harm Eike... she wouldn't have gotten close to Creed. I'm sure of it_. “So there's _no_ _need_ to do any test. We should work on the assumption that there are others –”

“I see that now's not the time to talk about this,” Lee cut him off. “We're all tired. You're upset. We should bring the kid inside, and talk again in the morning, when you're more –”

“Woman, you think this is a _game?_ ” Daken snarled, turning to face her. She had crossed her arms, and while there was understanding in her eyes, he didn't care about it, he didn't care about pity. Pity accomplished nothing. “I won't subject my child to _any_ test –”

“ _Daken_ ,” Laura inhaled sharply to his right, but he didn't heed her. He had to hammer his point into this damn woman's thick skull.

“I _won't_ subject nem to this just because Broo has a mere _hunch_ that Eike might be the result of _two_ distinct fucks –”

“Daken!” Laura hissed urgently. What was her damn problem?

“Even if the tests came back negative, you think ne would like to even know that nir _mother_ used to fuck _Creed_ every other day –”

“Oh, dear –” Broo sucked back his breath, and – what was this smell?

_Oh. Oh, no no no no no. This is a nightmare._

“Papa?” Eike's voice came weakly from behind him, and this was just a nightmare, a damn nightmare, it _had_ to be –

Slowly, dreading what he would see, Daken turned his head. This wasn't happening, this was a nightmare. A pretty vivid nightmare, yes, with vivid colors and smells – but his worst nightmares were  _always_ like that, so this was just a nightmare.

Eike stood just a few feet away from them all in the darkness, and Laura must've picked up his smell – that was why she'd tried to stop Daken, and Daken, being the idiot he was, hadn't listened to her. How on Earth had Eike managed to get in? He was staring at Daken – and Daken realized suddenly that he was  _still_ naked, and he covered himself in haste. Even in the limited light, it was clear that Eike was several shades paler than usual. Had he heard something? What had he heard? Dammit, of course he had heard –

“I was worried,” Eike said weakly, still stood stock on the lawn, dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, hand clutching tightly around his phone, “You seemed upset and I was _worried_ , and Maiko said that you would have called again if it had been urgent, but I _know_ how your voice gets when you're just _pretending_ everything's fine, and I was so _worried_ , and –” he was rambling.

“Eike –”Daken wanted to get up, go to his child, but he was stark naked, and he wouldn't subject Eike to something like that. Why had he gone to bed naked, why was he such an _idiot_ –

“And so, and so I came here, and – and –” Eike suddenly stepped up, came closer, closer, closer, till he stood next to them, next to the body. He stared at it and inhaled sharply, asked quietly: “What happened?”

Daken couldn't answer. Dear God, what had Eike  _heard?_

Rogue spoke with a shaking voice. “This kid tried to kill Daken. We thought it was an  _adult_ shapeshifter, that it wasn't really a kid –”

Eike knelt beside Daken, eyes on the corpse. His fingers trailed over the child's arm, stopped at the kid's fingers. He lifted one of the cadaver's hands, apparently examining the hooked nails. “What's this  _stink?_ ” The smell. He  _recognized_ the smell, oh god –

“It's –” Broo said hesitantly. “It's Creed's smell.” Eike dropped the child's hand and clutched his own hand to his chest as if the touch had burned him.

“Uh.” Eike rubbed the hand against his chest. “What test were you talking about?”

“Eike,”Daken said at last.

“Doctor?” Eike questioned, voice light, and he didn't look at Daken, nor did he acknowledge him. _Oh, god. Oh –_

Broo answered quietly. “I think they cloned you. Not – not  _completely_ . Eike, I must assure you that Daken  _is_ your father.”

“I don't need your words to know _that_ ,” Eike said coldly. “Two _fucks_ , you said.” He didn't look at Daken, and his yellow eyes were cold, so cold – yes, he'd heard. He'd heard it said in the crudest way imaginable. “I studied every cause for hermaphroditism, of course, it's what I am. You're talking about superfecundation.”

“Ah – yes.” Broo's wings flapped quickly. The X-Men kept their distance, but Laura was coming closer, coming to stand beside Daken. His blessed sister. What had he ever done to deserve her, deserve her love and understanding?

“And you think that this one –” Eike pointed at the kid, “– is a clone of only a _half_ of me. The _animal's_.”

“Eike –” oh, god, Daken thought, what could he say, what could he _do_ to get to him, _comfort_ him, get him to look at him – 

_Why won't you let me_ talk  _to you –?_

“Do you need my DNA?” Eike asked. He didn't wait for an answer, just reached up and then held his hand out to Broo, something held between thumb and index finger.

A hair.

“Will this do?” Eike asked, and Broo reached hesitantly for it, and took it in his clawed hand.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It will do.”

“Ei–”

Eike cut Daken off.

“I don't care what a stupid test says,” he said coldly, staring at the dead child, “I don't care if I have two _biological_ fathers. So what if I do? _You_ are my father.”  He turned to look at Daken at last, his eyes glowing in the darkness, “You are my _only_ father, _you_ are, you will _always_ be my father –”

“Ei–” Eike hugged him fiercely, his fingers digging into Daken's back.He was shaking all over. Daken embraced him hesitantly with one arm, the other still preoccupied with covering his manhood, and Eike hid his face in the crook of Daken's neck and inhaled deeply.

“And _stop_ with the pheromones, you know they don't work,” he murmured. He was right – Daken was pumping them at an alarming rate. He was just so desperate to calm Eike down –

“Sorry,” Daken said. _Oh, god, I'm so sorry. Eike –_

“ _Stop_ it.” Eike growled, and tightened his hold. “That animal _wasn't_ my father.”

Daken stiffened.  _That_ animal  _isn't my father_ , Eike – a future version of Eike – had snapped, so many years ago. He and Mystique had thought it to be an indicator that Creed had hurt him – and the monster had.  But now it was quite clear that that hadn't been the only implication. _You knew. You knew, you – you_ will _know when you'll come to the past. Oh, Eike, why didn't you tell me? Why will you decide not to tell me? I could have – I could have done something, anything –_

Eike patted a hand on his back. “I have to go back, papa.”

_No, stay. Talk to me._

“Papa. I need to get back to Madripoor,” Eike repeated gently, and he let Daken go,wriggled out of Daken's frantic hold. “I have a meeting,” he grinned. Daken's heart sank.

_You aren't nearly good enough at this, Eike. You can't lie_ . He stared at his child's empty eyes, at his fake grin.  _I see the shock in your eyes, Eike, the horror. Talk to me, please, we can resolve this, we can –_

Eike looked to Broo, who had moved away to give them some privacy. “I guess we'll hear from you soon? Papa won't warn us when your results will be ready.”

Broo stood awkwardly, his gaze going from Eike to Daken and back again – and then behind them, where Daken sensed the X-Men stood. “I'll – I'll let you know. Thank you. I'm so–”

“Okay,” Eike interrupted the alien in a cheerful tone, and oh, this was unbearable, this was horrifying, this wasn't happening. Eike looked at him again, that horrible grin still in place, fixed on his face like a mask. “I'll hear you in the morning, then, papa? Try to sleep, please.” He moved closer, and kissed Daken's forehead. “Love you,” he murmured, and Daken shut his eyes, stunned.

When he opened them again, Eike was moving off, and he wanted,  _needed_ to follow him, follow him to the ends of the Earth, talk to him, reassure him that everything would be all right – but that was the cruelest lie of them all, and Daken felt frozen in space, unable to move.

He heard Laura offer to escort Eike off the premises, but Eike refused her, and then he was gone, gone, gone.

Daken watched his child disappear into the darkness. How could he let him go like that? What was wrong with him? Oh, but Eike had been so clear and adamant in his refusal. Daken owed him that, needed to let him go if that was what he'd wanted. But Eike was suffering – it had been clear in his eyes. He'd been shocked, horrified – and he'd tried to hide it. He'd been – protecting  _Daken_ .

I  _ought to protect_ you,  _not the other way around. You didn't deserve this. You shouldn't have found out. I would have kept it from you, I would have protected you –_

Daken looked around, at the circle of shocked, mortified X-Men. Mortified: they should well be.

“Why didn't you tell me he was on the property?” he growled, and this wasn't fair of him, he knew it, but he needed something to tear through, someone to blame – when he knew full well that _he_ was to blame because Laura had _warned_ him, he knew full well there really was _no one_ to blame, but had they warned him before – had they warned him in _time_ , he would have watched his words, Eike would have never heard, never known –

Lee spoke hesitantly. “He came out of nowhere, they didn't warn us – they must have let him pass but –”

_They_ . The telepaths. The damn telepaths that were  _checking the perimeter –_ of course they had known that Eike had entered the property.

And apparently they couldn't be bothered to warn them all.

Furious, Daken sprung to his feet. Oh, someone was going to pay for this. Someone was going to  _bleed_ for this. He left the kid there – he didn't want to look at it, he didn't want to smell it, its presence the proof of something unspeakable, _unthinkable_ – and set off for the entrance of the school. The X-Men talked, said something – he ignored them. Get inside, find the telepaths, stab them – his mind was a whirlwind, a shocked haze.  He wasn't focusing, and the more measured portion of his mind knew he ought to focus, to calm down and think – recklessness would accomplish nothing, the damage was done.  The damage was already done, even if Broo had yet to perform his tests, even if the results were to come back negative – the damage to his child was _done_ .

Daken sobbed, but the sound morphed into a snarl. He walked quickly, sensed Laura behind him, his sister panting:

“Please stop, and calm down, Daken. We can resolve –”

He asked himself why the other X-Men hadn't tailed him. Maybe they were disposing of the corpse, or otherwise moving it, perhaps there'd be another mutant waiting to meet him at the entrance –

And it was Quentin. Of course.  _Not right now, dammit_ – he had no time for this now, no force of will to confront Quentin's worried gaze. Why was it that the maddening man always showed up when he was most needed, when Daken was torn in pieces?  There he was, hovering about the lawn a few yards from the entrance. N o other X-Man was in sight; the school was probably in lockdown.

Daken came to a halt, and Laura almost collided with him, taken aback by his sudden stop.

Quentin held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. He knew what Daken was angry about, if the look in his eyes was any marker. _Now_ had the other X-Men bothered to contact him? This school's communication system left much to be desired. “Please,” he said, “You need to – to get dressed.”

Oh, oh, this was tragicomic. Daken wanted to laugh – but a choked sob came out of his mouth instead. Quentin appeared to be fully aware of the ridiculousness of such a request after what had just happened – they couldn't have told him everything,  but from the way he was grimacing, he clearly knew the gist of it.  “Please,” he began anew, but, oh,  _oh_ this was actually  _perfect_ , Daken could use this.

“Why?” he snarled, “You can't contain yourself? Do you want to _assault_ me, Quentin?” He spread his arms, offered the man a good view of the merchandise, and Quentin blanched, hovered backwards – but then stopped and held his ground.

“Please,” he begged. “Wait just a moment, we'll find you something. The kids –”

“You don't want them to see the real you? Come, have a go at me while you can. No witnesses. Well, there's Laura, but you can shut her down, can't you?” the twisted words came out of his mouth on their own; he was accustomed to cruelty. It was, after all, what he excelled in. Saying such things right now, in such a situation, was tearing him apart – but that was good, that painted Daken as a madman in the night; what a picture he must be, he thought, naked and covered in blood, a snarl on his face, hair wild. Quentin kept staring at him, jaw clenched, never uttering a single word, and Laura, behind him, was asking him what the hell was wrong with him. He would maybe explain to her later. But now he had to focus on Quentin. _Come, see. Look at me. A cruel, unreasonable, bitter man. This is what I am, Quentin_. “Shut her down, like you wanted to do to those men. Come. Do it. Or I will _make_ you, you know. Like I did that night. Come. Rape me,” he demanded, the same horrid words Quentin had said on Daken's bed in Tokyo, the words that had dragged open a void in Daken's chest, words that still had Daken reeling from the horror of them – the horror that Quentin had been serious in demanding it, had _meant_ it – he had thought that inflicting such violence would be the only thing to make Daken forgive him for something that he hadn't even _done_ – _what have I_ done _to you, what have I_ – 

_I – I can't hurt you like this._

Daken lowered his arms.  _Even if you tore me to pieces._ “No?” he kept his voice light. “Ah, I guess I lost my charm.”

Laura demanded an explanation from him again – and again, he ignored her.

Quentin's feet touched the ground. He was pale. “Please wait here. Billy's coming down with a pair of pants. We – we're still in lockdown.”

“Funny, that,” Daken snarled, focusing his fury again on the reason he was standing here in the first place – the _only_ thing he should be focusing on right now instead of playing pitiful games, “I thought you were letting _anyone_ come in.”

Quentin grimaced. “We'll find out how that kid came in –”

“Oh, look at you, willfully misunderstanding me, walking on _eggshells._ ” Daken stepped closer. “None of you bothered to _warn_ us that Eike was on the property.”

“As I said, we are on lockdown.” Quentin clenched his teeth. There was something in his eyes – something cold and hard. Daken hoped such a reaction was aimed at him. _Good. Hate me. That's easier. Easier to handle –_ “We are checking the perimeter as we speak. We can't afford distractions.”

“You're out here talking to us.”

“I'm working _as we speak_. I'm scanning the area. We are _all_ scanning the area. We didn't warn you because we were – we _are_ – _focusing_ our minds _outside_ the perimeter.”

Of course, it made sense; it made perfect sense. But nothing had any right to make sense right now. “One of you  _geese_ could have bothered to warn us!”

“Leave the Cuckoos out of this,” Quentin snapped. “It was me. I sensed Eike come in and I let him in. _We were occupied_ , so I sent him your way and resumed what I was doing.”

“You shouldn't have _let_ nem in! You should have kept nem outside and _warned_ us!”

Quentin stared at him, and his eyes were burning. “He was dead worried about you. I thought –”

“You _thought?_ ” Daken snarled, and he seized Quentin's arm.

Quentin didn't falter, held his gaze – and it was electrical, a shock that sent shivers down Daken's spine. “He had the  _right_ to see you were fine,” Quentin said firmly. “Hate me, but not for this.”

His eyes – oh, his eyes burned with resolve, and he stood tall in the night, surrounded by his flames, so  _excruciatingly_ beautiful and powerful to behold. He was everything and Daken – Daken was nothing. Daken was little and petty and ridiculous, and even after  _everything_ Quentin was still thinking about him, still  _worrying_ about him, still taking care of him – and he was right. He was perfectly right. Eike had had the right to see that his father was fine. And Daken had thought that lying to his own child –  _keeping_ things from his own child – would really be a viable solution. He hadn't been worried about Eike, he had been worried about himself, as always, as the selfish bastard he was – 

Quentin burned him alive with his quiet intensity and he put things right, gave meaning to everything. It was like standing in a circle of blazing flames and knowing that you were safe, that they weren't going to harm you, that nothing would ever harm you.  _Hate you?_

_Never._

“–ken?” Laura's voice. Daken tore his gaze off Quentin's burning eyes and looked beside him. Laura was staring up at him worriedly. Why was she worried? Everything was fine. Everything would always be fine as long as –

Quentin jerked his arm away and Daken shuddered, the absence of his heat a shock more painful than words could describe.  _Eike. I will talk with Eike, I will solve this. I can solve this. Everything's going to be all right, everything –_

_Yes._ He returned his gaze to Quentin, grateful – but Quentin had taken a step back, sheer horror on his face – and then he took flight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ “Mh-mh.” Eike nodded, and then turned and hugged her as ne'd done before. “Thanks, dancer.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my precious beta, **TheBrilliantDarkness**. You are a blessing =^.^=
> 
>  **WARNING!** Please be aware that this chapter contains **PARRICIDE** and mentions of **CHILD ABUSE.** In addition, a character **throws up** at the beginning. **Thanks for your attention.**

9.

“Who is the betrayer?  
Who's the killer in the crowd?  
The one who creeps in corridors  
and doesn't make a sound?”

Florence + the Machine – _Heavy in your arms_

 

 

Maiko waited by the teleportation room.

She leant against the wall, arms crossed, tapping one foot despite herself. Eike had been inconsolable with fear after otousan's call. Maiko had tried to reassure him, tried to remind that otousan would have been clear had there been some sort of emergency – even if she knew that that wasn't the case. Otousan had always shielded Eike from everything – and who could blame him, after all that had happened? – but Maiko knew that this overprotection troubled Eike, and she'd confronted otousan about it several times.

And that call – coming in the middle of the night on otousan's end – had rung through, and Eike said that otousan had used _that_ voice – the one he used when he was trying to hold himself together, when he was dangerously close to breaking down and shutting himself in his room. Maiko didn't have hypersenses, but she'd learnt to catch the waver at the ends of sentences – whereas Eike, with his heightened perception, recognised it without even listening for it, to the point where he could even pick it up over the phone.

So Maiko waited by the teleportation from. It was, for the time being, the only place on Madripoor's soil that regulated the movement in and out of the island by means of teleportation; there were plans to implement similar rooms across Madripoor in the future. It was good that the country's citizens had recognised the merits of the system – there had been a little uneasiness to begin with, sure, but everyone knew that attacks by other nations were bound to occur some time or other, and restricting access to the island at least narrowed down the potential of such assaults to more traditional means.

The noise signalling an incoming teleportation sounded, and Maiko straightened up in anticipation of Eike's emergence. The moment stretched, and an uneasy alertness seized Maiko; what if something had happened at the school? What if the person who was to emerge from the teleportation room was to be an enemy? Maiko twisted her arms just so, felt the blades hidden against her forearms and prepared herself to take them in hand if the need arose.

But the doors opened, and there stood Eike. Any relief Maiko felt was fleeting; her brother was pale, and his expression was blank.

“Eike? What hap–”

He fell to his hands and knees and threw up violently, vomit reaching Maiko's high heels. Maiko started, moved swiftly to kneel beside him, tried to touch his shoulders reassuringly – but he cringed away, a hand falling into the pool of sick as he scrambled for distance, claws unsheathing.

“ _Fass mich nicht an!_ ” he screamed. Not even after the worst of his nightmares – screaming and kicking, tears streaming down his face as otousan tried vainly to calm him down – had he _ever_ reacted so violently. It chilled Maiko to the bone. Had something happened to otousan? She spoke, trying to keep her voice steady despite the creeping dread:

“Please talk to me. What happened?”

Eike raised his head to look at her, even as he continued to retch and vomit – and he was blue, but he wasn't himself. No. This form was decidely more feminine. Breasts pushed against nir t-shirt – and ne was lither, features as sharp as otousan's. This was an appearance ne'd never displayed – but, Maiko remembered, otousan had said that Eike had kept nir true form hidden. So was this nir _true_ form? If ne was so upset as to not be able to control nir shapeshifting powers, what could possibly have happened at the school?

Eike bared nir teeth, and they were sharp, so much more so than usual. “D-d-d-don't _look_ ,” ne begged. “He – he – he _touched_ this, he –”

There was no question as to who _he_ was. Maiko could feel her eyes growing wet as she did as she was asked – but this was no time for tears, and she blinked them away. She needed to be Eike's rock. She waited, gaze carefully trained elsewhere as Eike continued to vomit. When some of the guards approached, alerted, perhaps, by all the noise, she shooed them away.

Eventually, Eike stopped. Maiko waited for a few moments – and then she did the only thing she could think of.

“Naniwa-zu ni – Sakuya kono hana – Fuyu-gomori,” she chanted, “Ima wo haru be to – Sakuya kono hana – Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana –”

It was what otousan had always done after Eike's worst nightmares. Maiko could only hope that her voice would have the same effect on Eike. She approached Eike again, still running through the tankas, carefully lowered herself into a sit a little way off from nem so that she wasn't crowding nem. She chanted for what felt like ages, kept chanting even as she heard Eike weeping quietly; eventually, even that sound stopped, and Maiko felt her sibling settling nir head on her lap. She finished the tanka she'd been chanting – she had reached the forty-ninth – and let her voice carry strong the last syllable. Only then did she dare to look down.

Eike was back to himself and had retracted his claws. He seemed calmer. Maiko lowered a hand to pass it through his hair – but she hesitated. She couldn’t see his face from this angle, couldn’t ascertain whether it was okay for her to touch him thus.

“Yes,” Eike murmured without looking up. Consent granted, Maiko combed her fingers through his hair, listened to Eike’s quiet breathing, and, after some moments, asked:

“What happened?”

Eike stirred. “There was some sort of attack. At the school.”

Maiko's hand stilled. “ _Otousan?_ ” _Oh, God. Oh, God, no –_

“Fine. He's fine.” Eike inclined his head to look at the expansive pool of vomit beside them, wrinkled his nose at the scene and the vile smell. “Ugh. Gross.”

“We'll have it cleaned up. Eike? Is that all?” That couldn't possibly be all there was to it.

Eike's gaze was almost vacant, his fingers dragging on the floor. But this was more known to her, this was a reaction she knew intimately – she just had to wait for Eike to calm down on his own.

Eike spoke.

“Someone tried to kill father. Dead by the time I arrived – I don’t know anything past that.”

Someone had tried to kill otousan specifically? Maiko continued to caress Eike's hair as she waited for him to sort through his thoughts. Certainly, this couldn't be all there was to it. Eike had been too upset – that a reaction sparked by something far beyond the thought of having _almost_ lost otousan. Meanwhile, her mind was spinning. Could the perpetrator be someone trying to hit Madripoor through otousan? The US? Or maybe one of Madripoor's neighbors... China? Taiwan? It could even be someone from otousan's past, but she had no intel on such things, couldn't protect him – certainly not when he was so far away. God. He wasn't alone, he was at the school, he was with Laura, and still someone had infiltrated the place's defences –

“A kid,” Eike continued. “It was a kid.” Maiko hissed at the thought. “Doctor Broo thinks – doctor Broo thinks it was a clone. A – m-m- _my_ clone. Maiko, they c-c _-cloned_ me –” _My God._ That certainly explained otousan's call, and even Eike's reaction – it must've been a shock for otousan to see his own child attack him, a shock for Eike to see himself dead – “I left him a hair. He wants to do tests. He'll call as soon as – as soon as...” he trailed off.

“Okay,” Maiko replied, stunned. She was trying to keep calm and reason with cool detachment, but this was horrifying. Someone had _cloned_ Eike. She thought immediately of the US government – they had permitted the experiments in the facility Eike had been held in, after all –

“Did you – did you know that mama knew the animal?”

She couldn't lie. “Yes. I did.”

“He said he wanted to hurt mama. And so – and so he hurt me. I'd never – I'd never understood _why_ –”

Maiko felt her throat tighten. This was the first time Eike had told her anything about his kidnapping – all Maiko knew, she knew from otousan.

“Doctor Broo thinks that I'm the result of the fusion of an ova fertilized by papa's sperm and an ova fertilized by the animal's sperm.”

The words were uttered without emotion, pronounced precisely. It was nought but a factual statement. When the meaning of the words hit her, Maiko inhaled sharply.

“But he isn't sure,” Eike continued, “That's why he wants to do the tests.” Why in the world had the alien thought to say something like that with no proof? He knew full well what Victor Creed had done to Eike. How could he say such a thing? And why had he had such a thought in the first place, really? Eike was displaying cool, careful detachment now, but the thought had clearly horrified him – and where was otousan? Why hadn't he come back? How could he have left Eike to get back on his own after such revelations?

“I had to leave,” Eike said as if he'd read her mind, “That corpse stank of the animal and papa was a mess, he – his tears wouldn't have helped me and he knew that. He knows that when he has those reactions he has to hide from me because they don't help, they only make things _worse_ –” his voice was almost bitter, and it was obvious that right now he needed a firm shoulder, not otousan's stunned grief. Little did he know that otousan had _those reactions_ because he had lived through something similar – and he couldn't know.

He certainly didn't need to know that, after months of the same scene replaying over and over – Eike waking up screaming, otousan comforting him, and then otousan wandering the corridors like a ghost – Maiko had _confronted_ otousan. In the garden, so as not to have Eike hear, she had told him to get it together already, for Eike's sake. And otousan had opened a can of worms in response. He hadn't tried to excuse his behaviour; he had only told her – withholding _many_ things – what had happened to him as a child. He'd spoken coldly – he had _thanked_ her for confronting him, he had even _promised_ her that he would control himself better in future.

He'd agreed not to make Eike's suffering about himself – he'd said that that was an error he didn't _want_ to make.

Seeing him like that had left Maiko feeling terribly. Everything began to make sense to her; otousan's saving her from that rapist, taking her in and always knowing what to say to her when bad memories rose up. Otousan had snatched her away from horrors that he knew, intimately, and he thought he would be able to protect both of them from ever suffering such things. And when he'd failed – when Eike had lived through the same torture – otousan had been _destroyed_.

“He loves you,” she said quietly, “He doesn't want to see you suffer.”

“Yeah, I know. But I couldn't bear to see him cry, Maiko. Because he _was_ bound to cry. And that was – it wasn't –” he sat up abruptly. “That was horrible enough without seeing him cry, too.”

She understood, of course – but she didn't know what to say. God, what could one say to someone who had discovered that the monster that haunted their worst nightmares – the monster that had done unspeakable things to them, the monster they'd killed in defense – could be related to them? She was bound to say the wrong thing. She didn't know what to say, what to do – and she knew otousan must've faced the same doubts.

But still, this wouldn't do.

“Look,” she began, but Eike stirred and got up.

“God, I need air.” He had heard it in her voice – he knew she was going to try to talk to him about it all.

“We could –”

“Maiko, no offense, but – I need some time alone.”

 _Yes, I know. But how can I let you?_ “Let me accompany you. I'll call some guards –” and Chie, maybe – God, she needed support right now, she needed her rock. She couldn't do this alone.

“God, I'm not a child. Leave me be!” Eike stalked off but she got to her feet and followed him.

“I know. But Eike. If they tried to kill otousan, what stops them from trying something here?” There was still the issue of that man Maiko had seen the day of the X-Men's visit – she was sure it was a spy from some country. Or maybe an assassin? Chie hadn't managed to get a hold of him, no had the other telepaths, and their investigations had led to nothing. It was as if he'd vanished into thin air. What if he tried to attack Eike? Eike wasn't a good fighter. He'd never been able to hold his own against Maiko even when she'd been holding back.

“Well, nobody would try to kill Mystique, would they?” Eike took on nir mother's aspect, stood strong and proud like her. But Maiko knew nem – she saw the slight hunch in the figure, the pain in the eyes.

“I think –”

Eike hugged her suddenly. Stunned, Maiko hugged nem back. “Hey,” ne said, “I know. I understand. But please, I really need to walk alone for while. I'll be fine, I promise. I can't explain. I'm _not_ fine, I know, okay, but I –” _love you_ , ne tapped on Maiko's back, and Maiko tapped the same in return. “I need some air.”

Of course she knew. Of course she understood the need. Maiko made her decision then, and hoped everything would turn out fine, hoped nothing would happen.

She escorted Eike to the entrance and watched them go. She fervently hoped this was the right thing to do. Eike said ne'd walk the most crowded streets, would watch nir back, wouldn't wander into the rougher parts of town. Ne was setting boundaries, and Maiko ought to respect that. Nothing would happen – ne was right, no one would dare attack Mystique in the light of day.

Maiko set someone to clean the mess in front of the teleportation room and paced by the entrance of the building for a while. She went back and forth in her head on whether or not she should call otousan. He wouldn't be sleeping – she knew that much. He wouldn't be able to with such horrible things at the forefront of his mind.

She had just resolved to contact otousan when Eike returned. Maiko started; ne had been gone for less than half an hour.

She reached nem. “Hey,” she greeted softly. “Did you clear your head?”

Eike nodded. Maiko knew ne was lying for her sake; ne hadn't allowed nemself enough time to really work through all the issues at hand, but Maiko was glad that ne had taken the time out regardless.

“Can we go to your room?” Eike asked in a small voice.

“Sure.” Maiko led nem to the elevators. She threw a glance at nem as they waited. Ne was still in nir mother's aspect. Maiko wondered if she ought to bring attention to that fact. Using nir mother's face to mask nir true emotions didn't strike her as healthy – but it had been a rough day, and she decided to wait a few minutes, just to see if ne would return to nirself on nir own.

They stepped into the elevator. Maiko was worried, fearing that the recent revelations would be too heavy for Eike to shoulder in the long run. If the Brood's theory turned out to be true, Eike would need time to heal. Ne would have Maiko and otousan behind nem, of course – but Madripoor would have to be adandoned to its own devices. Maiko didn't want to leave, nor ruin all she'd done for the island – but Eike was her sibling, her family. Eike needed her – but so would all the mutants coming to Madripoor in search of a better life. Maiko didn't want to leave them stranded in an uncertain place. But Eike would _need_ her –

 _One thing at a time. Always one thing at a time._ Thoughts of otousan pulled her back to reality as they reached their floor and exited the elevator. She would deal with one thing at a time. Wait for the Brood to contact them, wait to find out the results, wait for Eike's reaction. They'd always planned to leave Madripoor once everything was in place – so what if they left a little earlier?

They entered their joint apartment. Maiko removed her heels and left her cell phone at the entrance, and turned on the lights, as the sun was setting down already. She walked to the windows and looked outside in silence, waiting for Eike to sort nir thoughts on nir own, for Eike to initiate the dialogue.

Eventually, Eike joined her at the windows. Ne looked out over the city for some time. “Look what you've done,” ne sighed, putting a hand against the glass.

“What _we've_ done.”

Eike was still in nir mother's aspect – perhaps it was comforting to nem, almost as if the woman was there with nem. Maiko bit her lower lip. A question kept spiralling in her head: had Mystique _known?_ She could have, maybe – it certainly was a possibility. Had _otousan?_ He'd known that Creed had been entangled with Mystique –

But no. No, he couldn't have. He'd been devastated enough that he hadn't been able to protect Eike – especially considering that the Eike they'd met before Eike had even been born, the Eike from the _future_ , had implied that Creed had done something to him. If Creed was, indeed, related to Eike and otousan had known –

No. That was unthinkable. But if Maiko was having such morbid thoughts, what mind-shattering doubts must Eike be working through?

“Hey,” Maiko decided to speak. “I'm here. Whenever you want to talk, I'm here.”

“Mh-mh.” Eike nodded, and then turned and hugged her as ne'd done before. “Thanks, dancer.”

 _Dancer_. Maiko returned the embrace. How strange for Eike to use that moniker for the first time since their initial meeting all those years ago. That had been the Eike from the future, an Eike so different, so mature. He'd fought viciously, showcased a level of control over his shapeshifting that Maiko had yet to see her Eike demonstrate. It was a mystery what had molded him and the reasons for his coming back were still unclear to her. Even if otousan knew, he wouldn’t have told her. Eike had even been the one to reveal that Maiko saw him as a father – _obey your otousan_ , he'd shouted. That Eike had fought to protect her, had acted like something of an older brother – and, in that moment, he had been, even if she was the older sibling in truth.

And what a poor job she was doing as one! Here she was, with Eike needing her, and she was dwelling in the past. The past wouldn't help now. And yet – Maiko remembered how Eike had reacted at the mention of Creed and the terrible experience of a time long gone. He'd been adamant in his refusal to even say what had happened, and that spoke of a trauma he hadn't yet recovered from. Could this mean that the theory about nir parentage was true? And, if that was true, then perhaps the other theory – the one about him having been cloned – was true as well. That was horrifying. There could be other clones too, many little clones, created and taught to kill, like Laura had been – and they’d be perfect weapons, because they were shapeshifters –

Shapeshifters.

_We're shapeshifters. We can slither inside your home – trick you and betray you._

That was probably how that child had infiltrated the school with no one being any the wiser, by _shapeshifting_ –

Shapeshifters could slip everywhere easily – and they were mutants, too – _mutants_. They could – God, they could have even accessed Madripoor and no one would have noticed, because mutants could enter the island without being checked upon. Why hadn't she thought about this earlier? If a shapeshifter had attacked the school, attacked _otousan_ , what stopped them from attacking Madripoor? Maybe even now they were on the island and preparing to attack –

Maybe even now.

_We can become the person you trust the most, the person you love –_

_Don't worry, dancer, you have weapons against us._

_What did you call me?_

_A play on your name. Maiko, right? Dancing child._

What had Eike just called her? _Dancer_.

And ne had never done so. Not _her_ Eike.

Eike had warned her about shapeshifters, that day. He had hammered his point home by turning into otousan, shocking her out of her mind –

A thought came to Maiko in that moment, a doubt so horrifying and yet also reasonable.

The person in her arms wasn't Eike.

It was a shapeshifter.

And with his knowledge of the future, Eike had tried to warn her, that day – had tried to tell her that one day a shapeshifter would try to trick her.

Was it possible? Was she going off on a tangent, right here, right now, when Eike needed her most? Or was she hugging an assassin?

There was no way to know. There was _no way_ to know, dear God.

_Don't worry, dancer, you have weapons against us._

But that wasn't true, dammit. She had nothing. Why couldn't Eike have been clearer that day? And she was reasoning on the assumption that Eike had been trying to warn her back then, but what if that wasn't really the case? Oh, Eike needed her and she was being so stupid, she was having such absurd thoughts –

 _No. It's a reasonable doubt, after what just happened to otousan, and I should have thought about it sooner, too._ But how could she ascertain Eike's identity?

She had to use something that wouldn't shock nem too much if this was just an absurd thought of Maiko... and she also had to use something that _wouldn't_ alert the imposter to Eike's real identity, if it really was an imposter. But if it was a shapeshifter that was impersonating Eike, maybe they knew already that “Mystique” was an alias, maybe they'd _disposed_ of Eike – where was Eike now? Was ne all right? Was ne alive? Yes, ne should be, because ne had come to the past, so ne would be alive right now –

Oh, she was being so stupid, she was being so stupid –

 _No. Focus. If I'm wrong_ _, I'll ask Eike's forgiveness for doubting nir identity, and I'll hug nem and be with nem and comfort nem, but I have to make sure now_ _._ But what could she use? What could she say?

Something only they knew. There had to be something!

_Some choice secret movement which can't be mimicked._

_Oh._ Oh – this only went to confirm that Eike _had_ been trying to warn her that day. Yes, now Maiko remembered – Eike had mentioned the communication system Maiko and otousan had been using that day. The system Maiko had taught Eike on those sleepless nights, when otousan was too exhausted and drained to do anything. The system they still used, with their own tweaks here and there.

 _God. God, please let me be mistaken_ , Maiko thought, and she tapped _love you_ on Eike's back.

There was no tapping in return.

No. No. The absence of an answer wasn't definite proof. _Answer me_ , she asked, dragging her fingers over Eike's back. _Danger_ , she wrote _, talk to me_ , and _please_ , and _emergency_ – but her mouth went dry, because no answers came. The only response was the tightening of the hands on her back, hands that communicated nothing because their owner didn't _know_ that Maiko was trying to communicate.

 _God. God – Eike. Where are you? Are you all right?_ She had to alert the tower. If only she didn't have that damn telepathy-blocking chip, she could have alerted Chie immediately! She had to get to the streets, search for her sibling, protect nem –

“Hey,” Maiko managed, with heroic effort, to keep her voice calm and soft. “How about we have dinner brought here?” The imposter knew by now that “Mystique” was upset, so they would run with it – or maybe they would pick up on the fact that Maiko had understood their ruse, and they would try to kill her.

But she had to reach her phone, alert the tower.

“Sure,” the imposter said. Maiko pulled out of the embrace and smiled. _If you've hurt Eike, I will_ kill _you._ She walked in the direction of her phone – turning her back to the imposter was a bad idea, but she had to act as if everything was normal. As she walked, she twisted her arms in a subtle way that nonetheless allowed for her to ready her blades. She reached for the phone –

– but there was a strange, muffled sound, and the device flew away, hit with stunning force by what could only have been a bullet. They had a gun. Dammit, where the hell had the imposter hidden it? No time to consider that. Maiko pivoted, threw the blade she had ready in her hand, twisted her other arm to prepare the next throw –

But she was hit on the shoulder, the momentum sending her backwards, the blade falling from her hand. The knife she'd managed to throw embedded itself in the imposter's shoulder in return. Maiko feinted back, ducked another bullet – and ah, that muffled sound was the result of a silencer, of course it was – rolled on the floor, seized the dropped blade and took cover behind the closest sofa, clutching madly at her hurt shoulder. The bullet hadn't hit the artery, but still blood poured out of the wound; she needed to resolve the situation before the injury caused serious complications. And she had to find proper cover – why hadn't the imposter shot her through the sofa yet?

“Aren't you a bit old to be playing hide and seek?” the imposter asked. They had to be pretty sure of themself to give away their position like that. From their voice, Maiko gathered that they were just behind the sofa. “I knew I should have learnt that code,” the imposter sighed. Why were they talking? Did they think they'd be able to take Maiko down easily? Maiko wasn't going to die without a fight – and she'd been trained by the _best_. Maiko clutched at her blade, calculated the trajectory – she would have a split second _at best_ to throw it – “But what gave me away first, child? I'm curious.”

 _Not telling_.Maiko darted up and sprang to the right, moving out of cover – and the imposter was pointing their gun right at the spot Maiko had calculated that she would, directly where she'd just been. The imposter readjusted, moved to point the gun at Maiko – but Maiko had already thrown the blade, and it slammed through the imposter's wrist, the gun dropping from the intruder's hand. Maiko rushed the imposter, aiming and landing a kick at their stomach, but her enemy reacted in good time, seized her ankle and twisted it so that Maiko fell sprawling to the floor, her injured shoulder screaming with pain as she landed directly on it.

By the time Maiko was on her feet – _why hasn't she shot me yet?_ – the imposter had retrieved their gun, and was pointing it firmly at her. They had also removed the blades that had been buried in their body, and they seemed quite unfazed by the blood seeping from their wounds.

They pointed. Maiko ducked on instinct, danced back on her feet – but the bullet flew feet away from her.

_What?_

And the imposter seemed almost impressed.

Maiko's shock must have shown on her features, because the imposter snorted softly. “Oh, I _will_ kill you, don't doubt me. Sit down, child.”

“You know, I think I'll stand.” Maybe she could manage to retreat to her bedroom – her spare blades were there. Maiko swore to herself that if she managed to survive, she would wear even her spares in the tower. And improve the security. _Definitely_ improve the security.

_God. Eike. Are you all right?_

“By all means, stand if you want to. I've gauged you by now.” The shapeshifter, still wearing Mystique's face, cocked their head slightly. “You're _quick_ , I'll give you that. And here I thought it was just fatherly pride speaking.”

What? Did the imposter know otousan?

 _They're trying to_ distract _you, you idiot!_

“What have you done to Mystique?”

“We both know that's not Mystique.”

Dammit. She had to prevent the shapeshifter from leaving the tower with that intel – even if it meant killing them or dying in the process.

_If you hurt Eike – if you hurt Eike –_

_Keep it together._

“What have you done to my partner?”

“Your _partner_.” The shapeshifter's nostrils flared. “I haven't touched _your partner_. He's on the docks, I presume. Safe and sound.” They grimaced. “We both know I'd never hurt Eike. Because it is Eike, isn't it? Your _puppet_.” They spat the last word and seemed – well, _furious_.

What? There was something, something she was missing –

_And here I thought it was just fatherly pride speaking._

_I knew I should have learnt that code._

_No._ Maiko felt the blood drain from her face.

“Ah,” the shapeshifter smirked. “So you _do_ have that quick thinking that Daken used to brag endlessly about.”

“Who are you?” _No way. There's no way in hell –_

“You know who I am,” the shapeshifter said, a touch of smug amusement in their voice.

“Who sent you?” _No way in hell, there's no way in hell – oh, Eike –_ “What do you want?”

“ _I_ sent myself. As for what I want, I already told you. I'm going to kill you. But first,” the shapeshifter wearing Mystique's face smiled a truly terrifying smile. “You will tell me what you and your father did to my son.”

 _Your – oh, Eike. Oh, God._ “You're _dead_ ,” Maiko blurted out, “You're –” _Eike saw you die! Ne had nightmares for years! I could you, how_ could _you_ –

“I survived many, _many_ decades, child,” Mystique said, “Did you really think I would die that easily? Now, _tell me what you did to my son._ ”

“Nothing!” Maiko snarled. She was more shocked by the unfounded accusation in the woman’s tone than by the fact that _Mystique was alive_. “We did nothing! I swear –”

“Nothing? And this? What's _this_?” Mystique spat. “He's pretending to be me and he's in bed with humans but you did _nothing_ , right? That's all him. _What did you and your father do to my son?_ ”

“Nothing!” The _nerve_ of the woman! She'd pretended to be dead and now she showed up, spewing accusations? She didn't even know Eike, she had no idea who ne was –

Maiko blanched. Mystique could very possibly have no idea of what had _happened_ to Eike.

“Nothing,” she repeated, more calmly. Perhaps it _did_ come across in a way that suggested they were using Eike – regardless of how far from the truth that was. “We did nothing. Eike is doing this for you. Ne only wanted –”

“Ne?” Mystique narrowed her eyes.

“Yes. _Ne_.” Maiko spoke calmly. “Ne only wanted to honor you, to achieve what you wanted in your name –”

“I never wanted this,” Mystique grimaced, “What sort of _lies_ have you been telling my child?”

 _Why didn't you_ stay _to tell nem the truth yourself?_ Maiko thought irritably, but she knew better than to antagonise the armed-and-deadly mother she was at odds with.

“ _Nobody_ lied to Eike. It's been a rough eight years – things changed when you – when you _died_.” She had to calm Mystique down. She feared that revealing what had happened in the facility so soon would only further the woman's rage. Maiko tried to put herself in Mystique's shoes; she must've been shocked to see them pulling off their ruse on TV, must've got to thinking that Maiko and otousan were somehow using Eike. How could she think that? How could she think that of otousan, he who had loved Eike from the moment he'd laid eyes on nem? “Eike developed this idea of you on nir own. Ne only wanted to honor you. We're doing something _good_ for mutants –”

“For _mutants?_ ” Mystique laughed, but it was bitter and without any trace of genuine amusement. “How nicely you lie. This won't help mutants. But you know that. Why don't you tell me what you really want?”

“I want nothing! I only want to help –”

“You're using my child.”

“I'm not!” Why didn't the damn woman believe her? “We're doing something good, things will change – _help_ us! Eike will be so happy to see you're alive –”

“Appealing to my motherhood _won't_ help you.” Mystique spat. “You _brainwashed_ my child. I knew I should have killed you long ago – I knew. But you were far more useful alive. You kept Daken so docile, you know that? Do you know how vicious he used to be? How _compliant_ he was once you were in the picture, once Eike was?”

“Seems to me that the one using Eike was _you_ ,” Maiko spat before she could stop herself. She realised her mistake too late, and the flash of anger in Mystique's eyes made her blood run cold.

“ _You_ _brainwashed my child_ ,” she repeated, lips curling in an angry snarl, “All for your personal gain, oh, Daken raised you so well.” The _nerve_ of the damn, disgusting woman! “At best, you're just playing _concerned ally_ – but I won't let you play with Eike's life, child.”

“I'm not playing! I care, I do, I really do!” Mystique didn't answer, gun pointed at her. _She's going to kill me. Oh God, she's really going to kill me._ She was going to die because Mystique had suddenly decided to act like a mother again – she had left and now she was back as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't _abandoned_ Eike –

 _Show weakness._ The first advice otousan had given her, as she clutched at her bloodied clothes in a dark alley. _At worst I'll annoy her – but it will give me space to move_ – Maiko swayed on her feet, a motion excusable with her blood loss but in the meanwhile her mind was spinning – could she manage to retreat to her room? Or would Mystique manage to shoot her before she moved? She would be slowed down by the blood loss – “I – maybe I'm doing everything wrong, but I'm trying to help. My – my mother was a mutant, they killed her –”

“I care _not_ for your tragic backstory.”

“But I'm trying to tell you that I _care!_ I do, I really do! I care, I _care_ about _Eike_ , about mutants – you _can't_ kill me!” she added desperately.

“I _can't?_ ” Mystique sneered. “Why, because your _daddy_ will kill me if I do? Don't worry, I'll take care of Daken next. I'll protect Eike from you two.”

 _You fucking deranged woman._ “Eike won't _ever_ forgive you if you kill us –”

“I can live with it,” Mystique said simply, her finger ready on the trigger –

_Oh Eike, I'm sorry –_

_Otousan –_

 

* * *

 

This changed nothing.

This changed nothing, nothing, nothing.

Eike traversed the crowded streets quickly, heading for the docks. She needed space, she needed to breathe fresh air – she needed – she needed to stop thinking.

Don't think about the animal. Don't think about him, think about father. Always present, always there for her, always a mask on his face, protecting her, always, always –

 _Papa?_ A memory of when everything was fine. _Papa? Do I have claws like you and auntie and grandpa?_

 _You could._ Looking up from his books, a smile on his face.

_You don't know?_

_Let's see. Ah, you're too little yet, monkey. If you have them, they're still forming. Right here, see?_

_You're tickling me!_ Giggling.

 _Ah, ooops! Sorry. My bad. Come here._ Father had hoisted him onto his lap and hugged him. _If you have them, they'll show up eventually, sweetheart._

_When? I want to be like you, and auntie, and grandpa!_

_Silly monkey. They'll come out when you'll need them._

_When I'll need them?_

_When –_ father had tightened his hold. _If something were to happen, sweetheart, and you were on your own. They'd come out then._

_If something were to happen?_

_Something bad, sweetheart. But that won't ever happen. I won't ever let anything bad happen to you, sweetheart, I promise. Never. Never –_ he'd been hugging him so tightly, his voice had been so dark –

_Papa, you're scaring me._

_Sorry, sweetheart._ Father had weakened his hold. _But that won't ever happen, sweetheart, I promise._

_I believe you, papa. But then, if that won't ever happen, when will they come out?_

_I suppose we'll have to find out, monkey_ , father had smiled.

Eike shuddered. _We never had to, did we?_ She'd stopped walking, and passersby were looking at her curiously – mutants and humans alike.

 _This is working._ Eike resumed walking. _Do you see it, mother? I'm protecting them all. This is working._ She would protect them, no mutant would ever face what she'd _faced_ –

Had mother known about the animal?

She didn't want to think about that. But mother had known the animal, had – spent time with him. Maybe she'd known.

And father? Had _he_ known?

 _No_. All that Eike had heard at the school implied that he'd had no knowledge of it; if father could erase the knowledge from his mind, he'd probably do so. But that wasn't his choice to make.

Mother, though –

“I want mama,” Eike had wailed when she'd seen the animal. She was still bleeding, she had been hurting all over, they had cut her and studied her and she was still healing and the animal had shown up. He'd said that mother wouldn't come. That _nobody_ would come. Eike hadn't believed him, of course – mother and father had always told her to never trust the animal, and so she'd cried. Even as she'd known that they would come and save her, she'd cried. The animal had said horrible things about mother, and then he'd –

And then he'd _died_.

This was so confusing. Even if it wasn't true, even if the doctor was wrong, the fact remained that mother had slept with that monster. How could she? And if the doctor was right – had mother known, and had the animal known – would that have saved Eike? The animal hadn't known – how could he possibly have carried out such torture if he'd known they were of one blood? He'd been angry with mother, he'd said, though he hadn't specified why. But if mother had known, had her silence all but _condemned_ Eike?

If, if, if. _I'm torturing myself – nothing_ _will come of dwelling on the details_. What was done was done, and no amount of what-ifs would change that.

But she shivered as she reached the docks. She was horrified at the idea of it being true, of mother knowing, of the _animal_ knowing and being in her life as a second –

 _He_ wasn't _my father. I only have_ one _._

How could have mother slept with that monster? He was an animal, a cruel creature. How had she lived with herself, knowing the things the monster did? There was so much Eike had been discovering about mother, these past few days, and she wasn't liking what she was digging up. Maybe this was growing up – discovering things about your parents, discovering they weren't as great as you thought they were. Would she someday find something shocking about father too? She doubted she would.

But she had never thought she would find out terrible things about mother, either, and yet here she was... Her mother had been a woman fighting to create a safe haven for mutants, yet she had kidnapped a fellow mutant and experimented on her. Her mother was a woman who had associated with a twisted monster like the animal. Eike knew that nothing was black and white, that everything came down to compromise in the end, but she couldn't help but feel betrayed. She couldn't help but think how hypocritical mother had been. And, if this horror turned out to be true, too – she was sure she'd never feel the same about mother again.

Eike froze.

Oh, but this was _horrible_ of her! What sort of daughter she was? Mother had _died_ for her! And here she was, thinking ill of the dead –

She turned and walked away, heading back towards the tower. Dwelling on all this was doing her no good. Maiko would know what to say to chase the bad thoughts away.

Maybe she'd contact father, once she was calmer – he'd been so shocked. Poor father! Always on edge around Eike, like a chord on the verge of breaking, and yet always controlling himself around her, always maintaing that strong facade. Always a rock for her. Yes, she would call him when she'd calmed down.

There would surely be resolution. The doctor would call and say he'd been wrong, and that he was so sorry to ever have suggested such a thing. Everything would be fine again. They would survive this.

She reached the tower. As soon as she set foot in the door, she was surrounded by human guards _pointing their guns at her._

 _What?_ “What's happening?”

“Who are you?”

“Who _am_ I?” Eike turned into himself. “You know me.”

Some guards blanched – but they kept their guns trained on him. “Call the telepath,” one snapped. “Fucking, fucking shapeshifters –”

Shapeshifters? Eike felt his blood run cold and stepped up – “What –” other guards arrived, guns pointed at him – mutants were approaching too.

“Mystique already entered the building. Either she was an imposter or you are. Please stay put or we will take it as confirmation. You're sorrounded.”

Of course he was surrounded – he was quite aware of the tower's defense protocols. _Why_ , he thought bitterly, hadn't they ever developed a proper protocol in case of a shapeshifter attack? How could they have been so stupid?

Because they always left and returned to the tower in groups. Because the protocol was to leave _accompanied by guards._ And Eike had stupidly gone out _on his own_.

And now there was a shapeshifter in the tower, posing as him? Who was the target?

He hissed as he felt Chie rummage through his brain. Maiko. Where was Maiko? She wasn't here – was she with the imposter? He wanted to move, but he knew that they would shoot him if he did so without Chie confirming his identity first.

_They should shoot me anyway. I'm an idiot!_

“It's Eike,” Chie's voice sounded through a radio, and the guns were lowered with relief. Eike was on the move immediately, sprinting to the stairs with some mutant guards on his tail to help.

“Where's the intruder? Chie, check Maiko first!” He hardly had to say it – it would surely be the first thing on Chie's mind. “Where's Maiko?”

“In your apartment. There's someone with her – resistant to telepathy.” Chie's voice was tight with worry. “I'm overcoming her chip –” a pause.

 _Shit!_ Eike reached the stairs, looked up – ten floors. How high could he jump? How fast could he move?

 _Papa didn't call me monkey for nothing._ Eike turned towards the assembled human and mutant guards. “Chie, update me telepathically! And you stay _here!_ There could be others.” If he had a clone, why not more than one? “Lockdown, all hands on _all_ entrances. Send any spares to Maiko!” He set off, leaping off the walls and running up the rails as fast as he could. Oh, he was an awful fighter, but _this_ he could do.

 _The intruder has a gun_ , Chie's voice in his head, and she sounded fucking terrified.

_God. God, Maiko – Chie, let me see through Maiko's eyes, so that I can calculate the best –_

_Not while you're running so fast – you'll fall!_ She was right. He'd be of no use if he slipped and fell because he wasn't paying attention to where he was placing his hands and feet. _The intruder is in the living room, approximately twenty feet from the door, to the right, near the black sofa. Lights are on. Maiko is at ten feet from her, the intruder has her gun pointed at her, they're talking._

 _Can't you do anything?_ He'd almost reached the floor –

_She's resistant to – she – God!_

_What?_ He reached the corridor, dropped to all fours and _ran_ –

“– can live with it,” he heard as he reached the door, and he sprang quicker than ever before and collided with the intruder, heard the muffled bullet shot as they fell to the ground. Maiko screamed and Chie shouted in his mind _Don’t kill her!_ , but like hell was he letting the bastard get away with this –

He straddled the intruder, seized their hair, the claws of his other hand unsheathing. He snarled when he saw his mother's face staring up at him. _You bastard_ –

“Eike, _don't!_ ” Maiko screamed. He stopped.

The woman was staring up at him, unmoving. “Maiko, are you all right?” he asked, eyes never leaving the woman's. He wanted to bury his claws in her.

“Yes,” she exhaled, but he smelt her _blood_.

“She _hurt_ you,” he snarled, claws edging at the woman's jugular. Why wasn't she reacting? Was she a clone of Eike, was she just a terrified kid?

 _I don't fucking_ care _if it's a kid._

“Yes, but I'm – fine. Eike, don't – don't hurt her. She's – she's your mother.”

 _What?_ She wasn't making any sense – maybe she'd lost too much blood.

“Are you sure you're fine? You're bleeding!”

“Fine. I'm fine. Eike, don't –” she moved – one step, two steps – and she collapsed on the other sofa. Eike wanted to check on her, but he could't move his attention away from this bastard – who knew what other disgusting tricks she would use? He grew a tail and wrapped it firmly around the imposter's legs.

 _Chie?_ He called in his mind.

_Yes._

_We're fine here. Send to unfurnished points the men that were coming here. And send a healer._

_Yes._ A pause. _I'm coming there, Eike._

 _Sure._ She had to be dead worried about Maiko.

That taken care of, he turned his attention back to the imposter, who'd made no move to escape or attack. “How many of you are there?” he snarled. “Tell me and I won't harm you. _Don't_ tell me and I'll make you regret –”

“Eike,” Maiko said softly, “It's not an attack.”

“It's all right, Maiko.” She must be about to faint. “I'm here now. _You_.” He snarled at the woman. “Tell me how many of you there are, and their positions –”

“I'm on my own,” the woman finally spoke, “It's me, Schlingel.”

The moniker made his blood run cold, because only mother had ever called him that.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” he snarled. His claws drew blood from her throat, but she didn't react. “Who the fuck –”

“Me. It's me.” She smiled. “You've grown so much.”

 _No._ It was an imposter – a pretty good imposter, because she'd even played Maiko – but it _wasn't_ mama. And yet she'd called him as only mama ever had –

He retracted his claws. “Is it really you?” he asked weakly.

But she had tried to kill Maiko – why? Eike kept his tail firmly wrapped around her legs.

“Yes.”

“I saw you _die_ ,” he said, and his voice cracked. It was her. His mother was here, and it'd been so long – but why? Why, why, why? He'd seen her fall, watched her bleed, seen her dead and unmoving, and replayed that scene over and over in his head for years –

“I survived, sweetheart. It was just a few bullets and I'm a survivor.” She smiled.

“But Logan said you were _dead_ ,” he blurted out. And he hadn't lied – why would the old bastard lie about something like that?

“Yes, I know, Schlingel. I faked it. I had to think quickly –”

“What?” he squeaked. _How could you?_

 _How do you_ sleep _at night, mom?_ Aunt Rogue's voice echoed in his mind. He'd hated her for what she'd said, and yet – what was happening now? How could mother have abandoned him like that?

“It's complicated –”

“ _What?_ ” Complicated? He deserved far more than that. Years and years of nightmares and crying and hurting himself, and hurting _papa_ –“Complicated? _Try_ me,” he snarled.

Mother closed her eyes briefly. “I had to think quickly. I had become too public a figure and I had put you in danger. They kidnapped you to hit _me_ , hit Madripoor – so I faked my death. I knew your father would take care of you – I did it to protect you.”

“ _Protect_ me?” _Are you freaking kidding me._ He was peripherically aware that Chie and a healer had arrived, that the healer was taking care of Maiko. Chie was fussing too, and Maiko was shushing her softly, _I'm fine, love,_ she was saying. And that was good, he was glad that Maiko was alright, but an altogether more pressing matter had taken priority in his mind. “Like you protected me from your _friend_?” His voice had pitched up, distress and rage honing it into a sharp cry.

Mother narrowed her eyes. “My f–”

“Your _friend_! The monster that sold me to them! C-C-C-Creed!” Even saying his name was a strain too unbearable. “Your friend, the animal, your fuck buddy, the monster –”

“My fuck –” mother grimaced. “Who told you that? Dak–”

“Who _cares!_ Did you hear what I said? He sold me to them!”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'll find him and –”

“I killed him _already_ , mama.” _No thanks to you. Who are you? Where is my mama? I want my mama_ – she was a stranger and she'd left him and now she wasn't making any sense. He desperately wanted her to make sense. “Do you even know what they did to me in there? Or where you too occupied _hiding?_ ”

“I know they – they experimented on you. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I hid to protect you –”

“Protect me?” She wasn't making any sense. He heard her words and processed their meaning, but they didn't make sense. “You didn't _protect_ me! The animal was angry with _you_ , he hurt me because of _you_! It was _your_ fault!”

“Yes,” mother closed her eyes, “I know.”

“You _know?_ Did you know – oh my god, did you know –” he couldn't breathe. He couldn't, _couldn't_ breathe – “Was he my father? Was he my second father? _Tell me!_ ” he grabbed her shirt and slammed her down.

“Eike,” Maiko's voice, soft, bringing him back from the edge. “Eike, she couldn't possibly know –”

“It's her body! She knows perfectly well who she _fucked!_ ” Eike snarled, “You think she didn't run tests? _Tell me!_ ”

Mother opened her eyes. “Yes. He was.”

Eike wailed, a sound inhuman. It was too much and too raw and too painful, everything coming back to him in a rush, the animal's voice and sneer and _body_ and his words and _sounds_ and his _blood_ , haunting Eike's nightmares and waking moments –

“But you're safe now, Eike, he's dead –”

“I _killed_ him.”

“Yes. I'm sorry you had to –”

“I was ten! Do you know what he did to me? _Do you?_ ”

“He sold you to –”

“He _raped_ me!” Mother jerked back as if he had slapped her, a pitiful sound coming out of her mouth.

“No –”

“Oh, yes. Your friend. Your nice friend,” he spat, venom in his voice, venom he didn't know he was even capable of, words spilling out of his mouth as though they had a will of their own. “Oh, but you have no right to be shocked. You knew. And you left. You left to _protect_ me. Good job! Why didn't you abandon me when I was born, by the way? Why are you even here?”

“Ei-”

“You have _no right_ to be here!” he spat, “You _abandoned_ me! _Where were you when I needed you?_ ” he screamed, “Where were you? I needed you. _Protect_ me? You took the easy way out, that's what you did! You left papa alone with all that responsibility, and he didn't abandon me! He looked after me! He did everything he could to protect me – and then he – oh, God!”

Eike broke off to sob, shedding bitter, angry tears.

“And then he would have these _horrible_ breakdowns in the dead of night when he thought I couldn't hear him – but I did, and I – who wants to hear their father cry like that? Do you know what that's _like_? To hear him trying so desperately to muffle any sounds, but his sobs are so violent and you're cursed with hypersenses, so you can't do anything but hear him _anyway_? And then the next day, he'd always – always _smile_ at me, and sing to me, and read to me, and take care of me, and it was like everything was fine, but it wasn't! I _knew_ it wasn't! I knew he was suffering, but he never let me down, _never_ , and now you – _you_ show up and expect me to welcome you back with open arms? You have no right to think that. _No right!_ You left. You left, you left, _you left! You made me think you were dead!”_

Eike's voice was wild, animal rage and years of sorrow permeating it. Mother looked overwhelmed, and good, she ought to be –

“Why are you here?” he snarled. “Why are you even here? What the hell do you want from me? _I hate you_!”

He only realised what he'd said after it left his mouth – but it was the truth, it was the damn truth, and he repeated it quietly.

“I hate you.”

“Eike.” Maiko's voice. And it didn't soothe him. It only enraged him more.

“You tried to kill her.” He fisted mother's shirt. “To kill my sister. You tried _to kill my sister!_ ”

“But she didn't, Eike –”

“ _Fuck!_ ” he exploded, out of sheer exasperation at Maiko. “Stop _defending_ her! She tried to kill you and if I hadn't arrived in time she would have!”

“But she's your mo–”

“She lost any right – any right!” And as he looked down at her, he saw her accept his words with a passivity that made him seethe. “You _lied_ and you _hid_ and now you _tried to kill my sister_.”

“She's not your sister, she's using you,” mother spoke up. The nerve of her! _Using_ him? “She's playing with things she doesn't understand. She's just a human and she's using you to assuage her need of feeling _needed_. She only wants the _attention_. She's _using_ you and she will hurt you in the process. Don't you see it?”

“I don't see it, no. She loves me. Not like you.”

“I lo–”

“If you loved me, you wouldn't have abandoned me! If you _loved_ me, you'd tried to talk to me! You wouldn't try to hurt my sister! But no, you snuck in here and tried to kill her!” It dawned on him then, and it enraged him even more and more and _more_ – “You pretended to be _me_ pretending to be _you!_ You _knew_ I wasn't in the building! You saw me get out! And instead of coming after me, talking to _me_ , you –” _How could you, how could you –_ “What's this about? Is this about me at all? Were you really worried about me?”

“How can you doubt that?” She seemed shocked by his words.

“Oh, I don't know, mama! Maybe because you only showed up now? Now that we're doing this? Now that we're doing something for mutants? Maybe you want all the glory. Maybe it's not Maiko that wants the attention, it's _you_.”

“I worked hard for this, Eike,” mother said softly, “I lost things you'll never understand, I had to make choices I hope you're _never_ going to be forced to make. I know how this will end up and it won't go as you hope, Eike. This will end in flames.”

“You can't know that.”

“I _do_ know that. But I also know that we can solve this. Eike.” Her voice took on a strange cadence, an urgency. “We can rewrite history. I know we can. You told me I'd die because of you but here I am, Eike, alive and well.” What the hell was she talking about? Was she mad? “We can work this out, we can steer the future towards the path we choose. I proved it's possible – I owned my fate and changed your past in return, just as I knew I would. Just as I've done countless times in the past.”

“You're not making any sense.” Her words made her sound like a rambling lunatic. _I told her she'd die because of me?_

“Oh, I am, Eike. I'll tell you all about her. I'll tell you all about the things I've done, the events I changed, the instructions she wrote me.” There was the most heartbreaking smile on her face. “She was a precog, you see.” _And you loved her._

_And you never loved me. Not like this. You never loved me like this._

“You followed instructions that told you to abandon me?” He felt that if he closed his eyes, everything would pass away – all these horrible things would pass away, the terrible things mother was saying would disappear, he'd wake up and his relation to the animal would be null, would not be truth –

“No, Eike, no. Of course not. But I had to prove it. I had to prove this was possible and that was the only chance I had. I had to prove that changing the future was possible. And you'll know, now. You told me I'd die because of you but don't you see it? I'm here, and I'm alive. And so you'll come to the past knowing this, and you will tell me what happens, the things I need to change, and I'll change the future –” she was deranged. She was _deranged_. She hadn't left to _protect_ him – she had left to prove something that didn't even make sense, because _she cared more about her plans than him._ She must have seen this realisation, the horror in his eyes, because she added, like a freaking _afterthought_ : “I'm sorry I had to do this, but I had to protect you.”

“Are you freaking _kidding_ me,” he growled.

“Eike, please –” she tried to move, but he pushed her down, hands shaking. “We can –”

“How could you?” he snarled, “How _could_ you?”

“Please try to understand.”

“Oh, I understand just fine. I understand that you're a monster, mama. You need help. Aunt Rogue was right, you don't care about anyone, unless it's useful for you! _Protect_ me? How about _rid yourself of me?_ ”

“That's not what I did.” She was struggling, but he kept her down. “Eike, please – you'll understand one day –”

“I understand that you're a _monster!_ That you _never_ cared for me!” he lowered himself, fist tight around the hem of mother's shirt. “That I was just means to an end! That you're a damn liar and you use people –”

“I'm hardly alone in that,” mother spat. There was something cold and vicious in her eyes. “Do you think your father never lied? Do you think he is a saint?” The nerve of her, saying such things, right now! Trying to set him against father, he who had always cared for him!

“I don't know, mama – which father are we talking about?” he spat. “It seems I have two, after all. The animal was hardly a saint.”

She shut her eyes, and the entitlement in the gesture made him seethe. She had no right, no right to act shocked when she had _abandoned_ him, when it was her _fault_ that the animal had _hurt_ him –

“I'm so–”

“ _Stop saying that!_ ” Something snapped in him at those words that held no meaning, something cold and primeval and old and dark. “I don't care, you hear me, I don't –”

She was staring up at him, but her eyes were vacant, and she strained against him no more –

– _Oh God,_ he heard Maiko say –

– and mother was staring up at him, and there were tears of blood travelling in red streaks down her face, dripping to the floor –

– _drip drip drip, what a strange sound_ , he thought –

– and there were strange things protuding from her head, three sharp points that hadn't been there before.

Eike's gaze ran down her face, stopped on the closed fist held firm against her chin. _His_ fist – and three things coming out of his hand – _they're claws, silly, yes, I have claws, I know_ – and the claws –

The claws were in mother's skull.

He retracted them, and they pulled out of mother's head with a sickening _shkkk_.

 _What_ _?_ His thought process was sluggish, unwilling, _unable_ to comprehend what had happened. _What? No. No._

“Eike.” Maiko was beside him. “Oh, God. Oh. _Kuro!_ ” she called sharply for the healer.

“She's faking it,” Eike said, his mouth forming words as his mind struggled to catch up. “Come on, she's just faking it. Right? Like the other time. She _abandoned_ me. She –”

The healer knelt beside them, put a hand to mother's face.

“Eike, she's dead.”

 _No._ “You stay out of this, Maiko. She's just faking it. She's –”

The healer's hand left mother's face. “She's dead.”

“You're lying.”

“I'm not.” The healer was looking at him with nothing less than sheer terror in his eyes.

“Well, bring her _back_.”

“I can't.”

“You _can't?_ ”

“I – she can't be brought back.” The healer's eyes darted to the door. “I – I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry,” Eike said evenly.

“Oh, God.” The healer had pissed himself, the pungent stench stinging Eike's nostrils. “I won't tell anyone, I swear –”

Tell anyone? Why would that worry them now? Mother was dead and then she was alive and now she was dead again –

And Eike was pretending to be her.

 _Uh. This will cause problems._ Relationships with certain mutants in the tower – the ones that had known mother – would be at serious risk. All that they'd worked so hard on... could it survive _this_?

 _Calm down. Relax. This can be resolved._ He would be strong like father.

“I know you won't tell anyone, dear.” He raised a hand to cup the healer's face. Maiko squeezed his shoulder. She didn't understand what he was doing. “Chie?” he called, voice light and careful. “Did you tell anyone who the intruder was?” Maiko's lover would never betray her – betray them.

“No.” Chie drew in closer. She wasn't lying. “I thought you might want to – to talk first.” How freaking ironic.

“Good. And the men? All still in position?”

“Yes.”

Eike nodded and grabbed the healer's neck. “Wipe it off of his mind.”

The healer paled. “Wait a second –”

“Eike!” Maiko exhaled sharply.

“I won't tell, I swear –”

“That was an order, Chie.”

She obeyed – he saw it in the light flickering and dying in the healer's eyes, saw it in his stiffening. He sat there like a puppet ready to be moved.

“Keep him shut down for now – put him in Maiko's room. You can do that, right?”

“Yes. It's fairly easy,” Chie said, and the healer stood up and walked away rigidly.

Good. Good. That was taken care of, and that just left –

“Eike,” Maiko said urgently, and he turned to look at her. “Eike, we need to call otousan. He'll know what –”

“No.” _There's no way I will do this to him_. “ _No_. I don't want to shock him.”

“Shock _him?_ ” Why did she repeat it as if it was preposterous?

“You didn't see him.”

“All right. Tomorrow, then. I'll make preparations –”

“For what?”

“For us leaving –”

“We're not leaving.”

Maiko paled. “Eike. You're in shock. It's understandable –” Maiko was looking at him with worry in her eyes but she wasn't backing away – she was his sister, she would support him.

“We won't leave Madripoor. I won't leave Madripoor. She wanted to stop you, don't _let her_ do it –”

“Eike, she's dead.”

 _As if I don't know that. She died because of me – but it was an accident. It was_ her _fault, her_ damn _fault_ – “Exactly! And we need to – to end this. For – for her. For –” He hiccuped, the truth of what he'd done sinking in. No. How could he? Mother's corpse was still warm beneath him, and he fought to regain that emotional deadness that had come with the initial shock, scrambled to find a foothold back into that rational, unaffected state –

Maiko embraced him.

“Eike, it was an accident.”

“I know!” He hugged her back, sobbing with fear and guilt, and relief and gratitude – “I – I know. But I need to end this. Please. I need to do something –”

Maiko pulled away, searched his face for – for what? Resolve, maybe? She nodded, pale. “All right. But the moment you need to stop, we will, Eike. Otousan won't agree with this.” Neither did she; Eike knew her enough to know what she was thinking about. “We'll discuss this with him, and decide together, as a family. Eike? Is that understood?”

“Can we talk about this _later?_ ” No. There was no way Eike would do this to father. Father wouldn't be able to take something like this too – and Eike would _protect_ him. He wiped his eyes, fought to speak evenly. “We need to – to make her –” he motioned to mother’s corpse. “– disappear.”

“God.” Maiko grimaced, looking down at it. “You're right, no one can see this.” She passed a hand through her hair. “We need to – Eike.” She shut her eyes. “Are you _sure?_ ”

“It's all right, Maiko. I know what we can do.” _I'm sorry, mama. We have to._

Maiko looked up at him, a question in her eyes – one that Eike had already found the answer to:

“We will burn her body.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Quentin removed his palms from his eyes, dried his tears with the backs of his hands. “I – I don't know. There must be a way to undo this – to remove whatever trigger there is in his mind. To free him from me.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gratitude goes, as always, to **TheBrilliantDarkness** , my amazing beta-reader ^-^

10.

“How do I save you? How do I set you free?  
Behind the curtain waits a darker world.  
If I can't make you leave,  
how do I save you from me?

Emilie Autumn – _Save you_

 

 

Chilled to the bone by what he had just seen, Quentin finally confessed.

He'd fled – yes, that was what he'd done – and flown for a while. It was only when he felt he could be more objective that he'd snuck into Broo's lab. Quentin knew he'd find his friend working. It being the early hours of the morning made no difference to Broo; he wasn't going to rest until he'd found the answers he was looking for, the answers that would prove or disprove the terrible theory that had so upset Daken and Eike. Upon getting into the lab, Quentin had sat and watched Broo perform the autopsy in silence, his friend's hands working deep in the child's corpse. He'd sat and stared until, eventually, he'd talked.

Broo made no move to shush him; he simply listened as he worked, stopping every once in a while to check the room's various monitors.

For context's sake, Quentin started at the beginning.

He told Broo how he'd befriended Hiro all those years ago, how Hiro had opened up to him about all his nightmares and terrible experiences. Quentin didn't delve into specifics; Daken's memories were his own, after all, and Broo had seen Hiro in the wake of many of his night terrors. He told Broo about Beast's hypothesis, the one where he'd suggested that Quentin might, somehow, have _conditioned_ Hiro to trust him.

He told Broo about meeting Daken again in Tokyo. He told him how he'd desperately tried to comfort Daken when Eike had been retrieved from the facility, years later.

He told him about the night of the funeral.

That was private, to a degree – but he had to be objective. He'd already decostructed that night, focused on their shared grief and mourning. On their talking, their despair. On Daken's sweat and skin and mouth, on the words Daken had uttered afterwards – the words that had made the world fall apart. He'd never meant to do that. He'd never meant to _condition_ Daken, and if he'd known, he would have never, _never_ –

“Quentin,” Broo said quietly, and Quentin raised his face from his palms. Broo was removing his long surgical gloves. Had he finished the autopsy in so short a span of time? “All you've told me so far is the story of two grieving people taking comfort in one another. Not entirely healthy, perhaps – but it's far from being the evil you fear it was.” He deposited the bloodied gloves into a medical waste unit.

Far from being evil? Had Quentin not been clear? “He didn't _want to_ , Broo. We were kissing and he wasn't willing to take it any further, and I kept insisting, and –”

“A despicable behavior on your part, yes,” Broo sighed, “But he didn't stop you, either.”

 _He_ couldn't _have stopped me! That's the damn problem!_ “He –”

“And he took the lead, didn't he?” Broo interrupted him, “He did nothing that he didn't want to do. In fact, I think he was more in control than you give him credit for –”

“He _didn't_ manipulate me!”

“I didn't say that. Only that, from what you said, he seems to have been in perfect control of himself. You say that he didn't want to have sex – and you didn't, as a matter of fact. And, as he delicately put it,” he grimaced, “He would have stabbed you, had you tried forcing him. Have you put some consideration to the thought that the two of you may have very different ideas about what happened?” he raised a hand, because Quentin had opened his mouth, shocked, “Have you considered the fact that he may _not_ regard what happened as a –”

“What kind of bullshit is this, Broo?” Quentin spat. “Just because a victim doesn't _recognise_ the abuse, it doesn't mean there isn't abuse taking place!”

“No,” Broo sighed. “You're right. But you're telling me this because you want an objective opinion, and so far, nothing you've said makes me think there _was_ abuse taking place. Nothing you've said has given me reason to think that Dr. McCoy's theory was true –”

“No? Didn't you see how angry he was, in this very room? How _defensive_ he was being?”

“Well,” Broo grimaced and turned his head.

“But that doesn't matter, Broo. He told me so. He told me that very night!”

“He told you that you'd forced him?”

“Yes! He said that he – that he was a trained dog, and that it had happened because of his conditioning!” Quentin felt nauseated at himself, at Romulus for doing this to Daken in the first place – for putting some horrific tigger in Daken's mind.

“There's no proof, Quentin –” Broo's wings were quivering, releasing a gentle, soothing hum, but they couldn't calm him down. Not now.

“You know, I may have believed you, had you said this yesterday. But not now. Because I've seen it, Broo, and I don't know what to do –” Quentin broke off with a sob.

Broo's wings jolted. “What have you seen?”

“You – you remember how devastated he was earlier?” Quentin motioned towards the cadaver on the table – the one Broo had theorised could be Eike's clone.

“Yes.” Broo grimaced. “I really shouldn't have said anything until I was sure.”

“It's not you fault, Broo,” Quentin said softly, “It's not anyone's fault but those bastards.”

“I know better than that.” Broo hoisted himself onto the table Quentin had been sitting atop. “But continue.”

“He was... he was furious.” He'd been a sight to behold, truly – bloodied, and seething, and with such immeasurable pain in his eyes. “He said some – some really vicious things.” Quentin winced to recall those terrible, mocking words. “And then – then he grabbed my arm, and –" He sobbed again, and let his head fall into his hands, the sudden change that had taken a hold of Daken's expression burnt into his eyelids.

“Quentin?”

Quentin pressed his palms to his eyes. “He stood there as if... as if he was awestruck. He just stared at me as if I was something out of this world, Broo. It was horrible. And he calmed down, just like that, just when he touched me. Now tell me,” he added bitterly. “Does that seem like a normal reaction to you?”

Broo didn't speak for a while. When his voice returned to him, it was oddly light. “What do you plan to do?”

Quentin lifted his head, dried his tears with the backs of his hands. “I – I don't know. There must be a way I can undo all this – a way to remove whatever trigger is there in his mind. To free him from me.”

“And do you plan on doing it?”

“No! No no no no, I couldn't!” he said quickly, horrified, “I can't. I could never impose myself on him again, I musn't access his mind!”

“So you think someone else should do it.”

“Yes.”

“You mean to ask the Cuckoos.”

Of the two, Quentin was the telepath – and yet, Broo read him more easily than any psychic.

“... yes.”

“I suppose they could be convinced to try. But there's something you're not considering, Quentin.”

“What?”

“They can't just storm in there. It sounds like delicate work –”

“Well, it would be.” Quentin grimaced.

“And wouldn't that be an assault in and of itself?”

 _Oh_. Quentin winced. “I'm a monster!” Oh, God, how had he not thought of that?

_Because I never think of the consequences. Because I'm a fucking –_

Broo laid a hand heavily atop Quentin's shoulder.

“Quentin,” he said sternly. “Breathe. Control yourself.” There were sparks all around them. With some effort, Quentin willed them away. “It's alright. You're not a monster, you just... didn't think this through. You only came up with this idea just now, didn't you?”

“But –” _I'm supposed to see_ all _the angles, with how fast I can think._ But whenever had that been the case?

“It's all right. That's what I'm here for – two heads are better than one.” Broo smiled. “And you know there's only one solution.”

“What?” surely Broo wasn't thinking –

“You need to talk to Daken.”

“I can't! He doesn't want to talk to me –”

“Perhaps you should let him decide that –”

“– and I could wind up influencing his thoughts –” Quentin was still muddling over the real motive behind the murders of those unfortunate bystanders – the ones that had been in the bar he'd trashed. He didn't want to think that it could've been prompted by some sort of triggered worry for Quentin's wellbeing on Daken's part. He really didn't want to. But, truly, it seemed the only reasonable explanation for the extreme solution Daken had opted for.

“Quentin. It's not a matter of _perspective_. The Cuckoos can't do something like this without Daken's permission. They can't rummage through his brain if he doesn't ask for help first.”

“But –”

“No buts. You know I'm right. You need to talk to him, explain your plan and motives and offer help.” Broo got up. “And, God help us, maybe you'll actually succeed in clearing things up with him.”

Quentin froze. “Succeed in... clearing things up?”

Broo opened his mouth to speak, and seemed momentarily to hesitate – but after a moment, he went on: “Quentin, it's obvious that you... care about what you think happened, but that's not all there is to it. You care about him specifically, don't you?”

 _And I have no right to_. “What does it matter?” Quentin snapped. “He hates me.” _And with good reason._

“You need to stop jumping to conclusions like that. I'm sure that if you talked –”

“I'll think about it.” What the hell was Broo trying to get at? Quentin knew what he had to do. He had to keep _away_ from Daken and wait for the horrible situation with Eike to resolve, had to wait for the elections to come and go. Then he would be free to take responsibility for all he'd done. He'd approach Daken then, together with Broo, and explain what he was thinking of doing. Daken couldn't possibly trust him, but perhaps he would trust Broo's medical opinion. Quentin would take care of things, the Cuckoos would erase all trace of him from Daken – and then he would lock himself up.

“Have you finished the autopsy?” Quentin asked suddenly, changing the conversation.

Broo hissed in annoyance – Quentin couldn't fool him like that, but he answered all the same. “No.”

“You've been holed away in here for ages.”

“I didn't begin immediately, Quentin. I waited on the off-chance that... well, on the off-chance that she might wake up.”

Quentin's blood drained from his face at the implication. “But she didn't?”

“No.” Broo grimaced. “I honestly don't know what would have been best.”

He was right. Any outcome would have been terrible. If the child had revived, they would have found themselves with a very young assassin on their hands. How did one _interrogate_ someone so _young_? Thank God things hadn't come to that. As it was, they were at a stalemate – but Broo would soon have some answers at least. Still... had the child survived, they could have helped her, protected her somehow. She was so young, a victim – and Daken had killed her. Was that fact tormenting him? Was he holed up, wishing he'd acted differently, that the child might have survived? And – if Broo's terrible theory proved correct, then... the poor kid was a clone. Were there _others_? Numerous other child assassins, forced to kill? Could the X-Men do anything if there were? Could they save them?

Quentin thought again about the poor girl shot dead by the police in Tokyo. What _use_ were the X-Men if they weren't even able to protect children?

 _Questions accomplish nothing_ , echoed in his head, and it wasn't his thought, but the Cuckoos'.

 _How long have you been listening in?_ He really didn't want to worry about not noticing mental intrusions, now. He definitely needed to sleep – Broo's pills had worked, but they'd taken too much time to have an effect, and then there had been the intrusion and he'd been woken up –

 _We've only tuned in_ _now_ , Celeste reassured him. _Come to the conference room,_ we _have been working._

The psychic link was severed. Quentin informed Broo of the brief communication, and his friend sighed and turned to look at the corpse on the autopsy table. “Well,” he said. “I'll get back to work, then.”

Quentin threw one last glance at the child's ruined body, then set off for the conference room, Celeste's words going over and over in his head. _We have been working_. Had they found a lead?

He arrived together with Robert and Billy; they were the last ones. As they entered, Jubilation nodded and went to the main desk. Quentin looked around and located Daken. He was wearing his costume and stood beside Laura, arms folded over his chest, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on Jubilation. Had he slept at all?

Quentin doubted it.

As it was, they'd figured out how the kid had gotten in: _though_ _the front door._

“We did a scan of the student body,” Mindee said, her sisters protectively positioned at her sides, “And a student was missing. The one we enrolled yesterday.” Of fucking _course_. “I take full responsibility. I should have scanned him –” something they didn't usually do – Mindee was taking the blame for something she had no fault in.

“I'm also at fault,” Idie said from her corner. Her face was gaunt with guilt. “I took the student from Mindee. I should have noticed something was off –”

“Oh, are we quite done with all the self-loathing?” Daken spat. Idie winced. She probably thought she hadn't been paying due attention, what with having been fuming at Daken and Jubilation the previous day. Perhaps she wanted to be reassured – but Daken was having none of it. Could anyone really blame him? “So, you figured out how the child got in. But he wasn't alone, was he? There was a _parent_ with him.”

“Yes,” said Jubilation. “She said she was his mother.”

She then nodded to Hisako, and the latter woman brought up various footage that had been captured by the cameras around the school. All the videos featured an average, middle-aged woman with short black hair, and a kid covered in black scales.

Daken stepped up, watching the videos intently.

They also showed Mindee and Idie as they showed the couple around. “She kept finding reasons to stay in the school – places she wanted to see.” Idie grimaced. “Eventually she left.”

Daken didn't say anything, still focused on the screens.

Mindee spoke up. “She was human, of that I'm sure. We think she could be – ah –”

“We think she is the child's handler,” Jubilation took over, “That's the most likely hypothesis. And we've found her.” Daken didn't react. Jubilation looked as concerned as Quentin felt – perhaps sensing how the silence might be hiding an oncoming storm. “We've been using the city's cameras, plus telepathy – she hasn't left New York. We've also been trying to utilise facial recognition programs, but we don't yet know who she is –”

“That's Elizabeth Garner,” Daken said.

Jubilation started. “I'm sorry, who?”

“Elizabeth Garner.” He cocked his head. “The wife of late General Richard Williams.”

General Williams – oh. The man who had ordered Eike's kidnapping. The man who had been found the day of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier incident – covered in horrifying wounds, bled to death.

Jubilation cleared her throat. “Do you have intel on her?”

“Not much.” Daken didn't seem preoccupied with the uncomfortable silence he had brought about, with the slightly disturbed expressions of some. “A pediatrician. She took drugs and lost her job. Then, when her husband died, she suffered from a breakdown.”

Billy seemed the least willing to accept Daken's unapologetic tone. “Yes? I wonder why. Let's not beat arund the bush, shall we? When you _killed_ her husband.”

Daken looked at him coldly. “Yes, let's not beat around the bush. When the man who ordered the _kidnapping of_ and _experimentation on_ my child –” Daken enunciated precisely, despite the very audible waver in his voice, and Billy winced. “– suffered his well-deserved death. _Must_ you play this game now? I've no taste for it.”

“No.” Billy grimaced. “You're right, now's not the moment. But don't think we condone what you did –”

“I don't care an ounce for your validation. You want to arrest me? Have me punished for my deeds? _Do it_. Because I'd kill him again, a thousand times over.” Daken's voice was cold, so cold it sent shivers racing down Quentin's spine. A thrill that, Quentin recognised with shock, had nothing to do with dread. _What sort of animal am I?_ Quentin thought. Daken's gaze left Billy, passed briefly over Quentin, then returned to Billy anew. “Are we done?”

“Yes.” Billy folded his arms, “For now.”

Daken's attention returned to Jubilation, and Quentin released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. What had he expected to happen? Had he thought Daken might choose that moment to face him? No. This was a delicate situation, and Daken surely didn't want to divulge all the sordid details of their history to everyone.

And yet, Quentin had gone and told Broo everything. But – that had only been in search of a resolution. _I'll solve this._

“Anything else?” asked Jubilation.

“Not much. She was institutionalized, and I have no idea where she ended up next.”

“And her daughter?” Rogue spoke up, “She had a daughter, didn't she?”

“Jessica.” The young woman he'd kidnapped to get Eike back. “She got into _mutant rights_. You know, _mutants are our brothers_ , and all that.” He smiled, sort-of – it was more of a grimace that held dark amusement. “The things daddy dearest did for a living _shocked_ her.”

“You kept your eyes on them,” Jubilation said, bringing a hand to her mouth. “How _thoughtful_ of you.”

“Only to make sure they wouldn't be a problem. It seems I should have paid more attention.” Daken shrugged. “You said you found her?”

“Yes. She's in an old motel.”

“A _motel_.” Daken wrinkled his nose. “Alone?”

“That's how it seems from what we can see, yes.”

“No one's in her vicinity, either,” Celeste added. So, the Cuckoos were monitoring and controlling minds in the area.

“She must be waiting for extraction.” Daken speculated. “But – no. It doesn't make any sense. Nobody was outside the school tonight, were they?”

“No,” Quentin answered. Daken turned towards him slightly. “There was no one. We would have noticed.”

“There was no extraction team. A suicide mission, then?” He grimaced. “They're expendable, if they're –”

“If they're clones,” Laura said, voice hard and clipped. “Yes.”

Daken turned towards her, grasped her arm. They looked distant, caught up in one another. The whole situation was awful for Laura too, it seemed.

“Maybe it was just the one,” said Rogue lightly, trying to soothe them as much as she could. “Maybe there aren't clones.”

“Broo hasn't finished yet,” Quentin added, “So –”

“We'll ask Garner directly,” Jubilation said shortly. “We're bringing her in.”

A stunned silence followed the announcement of her decision. Billy was the first to break it.

“You mean – we're talking to the authorities?”

“No,” she asserted. Daken looked at her with an eyebrow raised – surprised, too, by her firm declaration of intent. “We can't risk losing her in the system. What they did – if it's true – was an attack to our very core. _We_ will be taking her in and interrogating her _ourselves_. If you take umbrage with that, Wiccan, now's the time to make your case.”

Billy crossed his arms. What would he do? Would he run to the Avengers like he had done just a few days ago? “I don't know why you think I don't care about this,” he said quietly after a while. “I'm shocked as you are. I'm _enraged_ as you are.”

“Good. Then it's settled. We're going in now.” She outlined a plan of action – Colossus would teleport Quentin and Idie in. They would take the woman and bring her to the school.

“I'm going with them,” Daken said as they were preparing to go. He reached them and stood right beside Colossus.

“They'll return immediately.”

“Unless she _is_ waiting for extraction. I don't want to risk them losing her.”

Idie grimaced. “We won't –”

“Excuse me if I don't trust your judgement,” Daken scoffed. That was unfair and he knew it – it showed in his eyes. _God. He's all wrapped up in himself._ He must've been aching, must've been furious. He could hurt the woman. But he wouldn't be alone, they would be able to keep an eye on him –

“All right,” Jubilation sighed. Her thought process must have mirrored Quentin's own. “But I want her alive, Daken. Don't hurt her.”

“Of course.”

They teleported immediately, and found themselves in the parking lot of an old-fashioned motel. Quentin mentally shielded them the moment they touched down, though there wasn't a soul in sight, and they approached the room the Cuckoos had marked. Quentin scanned inside; the Cuckoos had been sure of themselves, but it wouldn't do to mistakenly kidnap someone else.

And there was someone in the room, a chip user. Quentin overcame the chip to see through their eyes – but there was no mirror or other such reflective surface he could use to ascertain their identity. The person was pacing up and down the room in the manner of someone quite worried.

Quentin uncloaked Idie – the least threatening looking of them all – and she stepped up to the door, knocking on it. Inside, the person stopped walking abruptly. They looked to the door, and, after a moment of hesitation, walked over to it. Quentin left the person's mind just as the door was opened – and yes, it was the woman who'd brought the kid to the school. Her eyes widened as she recognised Idie, and she retreated quickly, a hand lowering to her side –

There was a shout, and then blood was streaming from her hand. But – Idie had done nothing. Daken walked past Quentin and headed for the door just as Idie entered. Concerned that Daken might attack the woman, Quentin quickly followed suit, and felt Colossus behind him doing the same.

The woman had retreated hastily into the room, and had almost reached the bathroom door when Quentin entered, but Idie froze it. The woman was trapped. She turned, wide-eyed, to look at the entrance, but Colossus was closing the door behind him. The woman pressed herself to the wall, healthy hand clutching her bleeding one as she bared her teeth at Idie. “I won’t say anything!”

Daken growled. He was cloaked, but even so, the woman's eyes darted in his direction. Quentin positioned himself between the two of them; it wouldn't stop Daken if he set his mind on violence, but it would at least slow him down –

Idie stooped to pick something up off the floor – one of Daken's knives. He'd thrown it when the woman had moved to grab something on her person – looking at her, Quentin saw that she'd been going for her gun. He moved it away via his telekinesis. She started at the sight of her gun floating, apparently of its own free will, but only pressed herself further into the wall.

“Reveal yourself,” she snapped.

They didn't have much reason left to hide. Quentin uncloaked them, and Garner's eyes widened almost comically. “You!” she snarled, flashing teeth – there was no doubt as to whom the venom was aimed at.

“Me,” Daken said quietly. He kept behind Quentin. “Did you think I was dead, perhaps? So sorry to disappoint you.” His calmness sent shivers down Quentin's spine. “I liked your little trick,” he added, all suave. “Tell us some more about it.”

“You're coming with us, Mrs. Garner,” Colossus said firmly. Interrogating her in the motel, despite Daken's keen intention to do just that, would not be ideal. They needed to take her to the school as quickly as they could manage.

The woman's features contorted with rage. “You haven't even asked _who_ I am! Because you _know_ who I am, don't you? He told you, didn't he, the damn murderer told you!” She nodded towards Daken, blazing eyes fixed defiantly upon him.

“Yes,” Daken said, voice cold and hard as steel. “I know who you are. But I want to know more about who and what your little friend was.”

The woman just smiled a terrible smile, one rich with malice and sick glee. “She's dead, isn't she? That's the only explanation as to how you're alive now. She's dead, and you killed her. Poor thing, she was only a child.” Garner snorted. “I expected nothing less from an animal like you .”

That was a mistake.

A wave of sheer rage crashed over Quentin, and he saw red, heard angry screeches sound out in his mind – but, with some effort, he controlled himself. He could hear, as if from some great distance, Idie snarling, Colossus' metal body creaking – then it all passed as quickly as it had started, and Daken was at his side, claws unsheathed, staring at the woman with set features.

“Animal?” he repeated softly. That tone was terrifying; he didn't sound angry. His voice was still water, and it hid depths unfathomable. “Oh, no. An animal would have done far worse things. An animal would have kidnapped you and your daughter, rather than your husband alone. An animal would have tortured your child first, would have cut into her deep and slow and drawn the torture out, until, finally, her body gave out and she drew her last breath as you and your husband begged me to spare her. An animal would have repeated the process on you, and only killed your husband after he'd suffered all that.”

There was no emotion behind his words; Daken's delivery was matter-of-fact and clinical. Quentin could feel himself trembling, and heard Idie faintly exhale _God._

“That's what an animal would have done,” Daken concluded serenely. The woman's face was terrible to look upon; she was wide-eyed with fear and rage, her lips curled up in a snarl. Fearing that Daken might try to harm her, and hating himself for what he was about to do, Quentin went to seize Daken's arm, hoping it would stop –

Daken sheated his claws, and Quentin quickly allowed his hand to fall.

“But the sins of your husband were not your own, Elizabeth, nor your daughter's. I had no quarrel with you. Your husband _was_ an animal – don't lie to yourself and pretend he wasn't. And in your haste to avenge him, you've become the very thing you label me as. Hypocrite.” Daken turned to Quentin. “She's all yours,” he said quietly. “I don't want to touch her.”

The woman looked as though she wanted to strangle Daken, eyes so wide that the red was visible. “You dare?” she spat. “You _dare_?”

“I do, yes.” Daken didn't turn to look at her. “The only animal here is you – using a _child_ to avenge yourself.”

“Oh?” she sneered, “You think that's all it was?”

Quentin felt the blood drain from his face at her tone, at the sheer lack of remorse for all she'd done – and at the way she seemed to be implying something far, far darker –

Idie seized Garner's arm. “You're coming with us, and you're going to explain _exactly_ what you mean by that.”

“I don't think so,” the woman spat, still clutching at her bleeding hand, her fingers circling her wrist, twisting – what was she doing? She was going to worsen her injury if she kept at it –

Someone knocked loudly on the door. “FBI!”

Garner looked as surprised as the assembled X-Men were, shock written all over her face – but then she closed her eyes, and there was something akin to resignation in her expression. When she opened them again, she sneered: “Try explaining _this_ –“ and she gave her hand one last wrench –

Her head exploded.

They stood frozen, rooted to the spot with shock, as Garner's body slumped down the wall – the room was a mess of blood, brain and bone. Idie had let go of the woman's arm and bolted away, and she was now staring at the corpse from a distance, eyes wide.

Daken, the most lucid of their group, turned to Quentin, lifting a hand up to his teammate's arm. “We need to –”

The door swung open, and FBI agents rushed in, guns ready – only to stop abruptly at the sight of _four X-Men_ and a _corpse_ in the midst of all the gore _._

“Freeze!”

“Sure,” Quentin complied immediately. His teammates imitated him. “No one's moving.” He tried to reach the agents' minds, but they were all wearing chips, of course. “Agents, this is not what it looks like.” He kicked himself inwardly as soon as the words left his mouth – ten millions thougths per second and the only thing he came up with was something only a thug would say?

“D-d-don't move!”

“We aren't.”

The agents kept the X-Men at gun point as another entered the room – a blonde woman. She moved in, unperturbed by all the carnage, and without even reaching for her own gun; either she was very arrogant, or a very experienced leader. Both, probably. Quentin contacted the Cuckoos to inform them of the situation and ask for directives.

The blonde woman approached the body and stood over it. Then she looked at them. “You didn't do this.”

“Exactly,” Quentin said. Thank God, someone reasonable, someone with no prejudice against mutants! “So –”

“Search them,” she said to the other agents. They obeyed immediately. Yes, she was the leader. She cocked her head just slightly and looked at Quentin with an eyebrow raised. “Unless you're going to resist?”

“No,” Colossus spoke, “We are cooperating.”

“Good.” The woman crossed her arms. “Search the room, too.” She stood there and watched as the agents did as she'd told – what were they looking for?

An answer from the Cuckoos rang out in Quentin's mind – they told him to cooperate. _Yeah,_ he replied a little shortly. _We're doing that._ The agents searched them thoroughly, always keeping them at gunpoint. Daken gave them his blades without protest, and they bagged the bloodied one as evidence.

When the search was finished, it was obvious that they had been looking for something.

“So,” the woman said firmly, “Whatever it was, you managed to hide it in some pocket dimension?”

This was getting weirder and weirder. They didn't even know what they were looking for, did they? Who had sent them here?

“We don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes, do play dumb.” She snorted softly. “Who was she? What did she give you? Why did you kill her?”

“You yourself said we didn't kill her!” Quentin snapped.

“Well – not with your _powers_. Now, will you answer me?”

They didn't even know who she was – they'd been sent here with no intel at all. Maybe they'd received an anonymous tip-off? Was whoever it was that had been behind Garner behind this too? But – why send the FBI?

“You can answer here, or we can arrest you and continue elsewhere.” Her colleagues didn't seem too happy with that, especially the ones near Quentin, who looked terrified at being so close to him. In any other situation, this would have hurt him. “I'm waiting. I can arrest you all for murder –”

“She took her own life,” Daken spoke up, “An autopsy will confirm it. Search for some device in her brain. A modified TeBlo, probably.” That – was actually very likely. She had worn the chip.

“Yes?” She looked at him, “And who was she? What where you doing here?”

“I'm afraid that's my fault.” What was he doing? “She wanted to talk to me; I asked my kind teammates to accompany me.”

“She wanted to talk to you? Who was she? What did she give you?”

“She gave us nothing –” Quentin began –

“Elizabeth Garner. She should be fairly easy to find in your database.”

“Elizabeth Garner?” The woman bent her arm in front of her as a holo appeared, and she tapped quickly on it. It wasn't projected by any device, but by her very hand: she wore a prosthetic. She grimaced. “What did she want?”

“To talk about her husband, apparently – but she attacked us.”

“Her husband?” Her fingers swung on the holo. Her eyes widened. “Richard _Williams?_ ”

“Yes.”

“What did she tell you about him?”

“She was rambling – she accused me of his death.” What the hell was Daken doing? Should they let him continue?

“His death? Why did she accuse you of it?”

“No idea.”

“Try again.”

“Maybe you should ask your superiors for access on those classified files?” Daken _purred_. The woman quickly vanished the holo and returned a piercing gaze to him.

“What did she give you?”

“Besides a headache?” Some agents grimaced, on par with Idie, who was still a little green. “Oh, my bad. Please excuse the pun.”

“This is far from amusing.” The woman's lips were a thin line. “So far you've only slithered your way out of my questions. Maybe we should apprehend you –”

“We're cooperating,” Colossus reminded her sharply. “We did nothing, the autopsy will tell you as much. Are we done here?”

“No, we're not, Mr Rasputin. I have no intention to submit to whatever bullshit from the Utopia Convention you're about to pull out of your arse.” Her agents looked at her as if she were mad – they weren't equipped to deal with mutants, probably. But she looked very resolute – they would obey if she told them to take the X-Men down.

Daken clicked his tongue. “Come now. There's no need for such animosity. We've cooperated – surely you can take our statements and let us go? You'll be quite welcome at the school if you've any further questions –”

“No one is leaving this room until you tell me what information was exchanged before Garner's alleged suicide – and what did she give you.”

“She gave us nothing.” Daken said firmly. “As for your other question, as some information is classified even for you, this is all I can tell you _on_ the record. _Off_ the record, on the other hand –” he let his voice trail off and the woman's eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms – and then she looked around at her people.

“Leave us.”

“Ma'am –”

“ _Now_.” She certainly was commanding.

As her agents left, she stood at ease, gaze firmly fixed on Daken. What did he want to do? Did he want to use his pheromones? Should they let them handle this? Quentin exchanged a glance with the others.

The last agent left and closed the door behind himself. The woman cocked her head. “Off the record?”

“She was convinced I killed her husband because my child was a guest of that _lovely_ facility he lead.”

“Your _child?_ ” The woman's eyes widened slightly, but then her features smoothed. She looked at the body. “And did you? Kill her husband?”

“Of course not.”

She stared at the body for a while, jaw clenched – and then she looked at Daken again.

“Do you really think I'm this gullible?”

“Of course not. I'm giving you something plausible to tell your superiors.” What the hell was he doing? Quentin looked around, saw Idie widen her eyes, saw Colossus narrow his.

“And why would I want something _plausible_ when I can have the truth?” The woman crossed her arms.

“I know you want to dig. I know you won't stop till you have your answers. And I'm telling you – stop now.”

The woman's eyes were ice. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, Donna. I'm protecting you.”

They knew each other. Of course they knew each other. They should let Daken handle this.

Who was she?

“Protecting me?” The woman raised her prosthetic hand to tap lightly on her cheek. “Oh, that's so sweet of you. So considerate.”

“I'm serious.”

The woman snorted.

“I'm sorry,” Idie interjected, “Do you –”

“We almost dated,” Daken shrugged, at the same time as the woman waved her prosthetic hand and said:

“He cut this off.” There was no heat behind the words, no rage – it was just a statement.

“I really am sorry about that,” Daken offered quietly.

“Are you, now.”

“Yes.”

The woman cocked an eyebrow and turned her head, looked at the body again. “I wasn't sure you'd recognised me.”

“Donna, you're unforgettable.”

“Flattery won't work.”

“I'm serious, Donna. Stop now. I owe you this, at least. Write your report and stop _now_.”

She clenched her jaw. She looked like the kind of person that didn't stop at anything – and Daken was going out of his way to protect her from the fallout of whatever was happening behind the scenes. The stupid woman should thank him and go away and never look back.

“Let me take a wild guess,” Daken said casually. “They sent you here looking for something, because you're so convinced she gave us something – but you don't even know what you're looking for. They sent you in here with no intel. And they did so because they knew already that what you were supposed to look for wasn't here.” That was very probable – but why had whoever was behind this sent the FBI instead of retrieving her? Had they abandoned her? “You were sent here as a message to her, Donna. She was going to kill herself the moment you entered that door.”

The woman stood silent for a few moments, then looked at them again with steely eyes. “What did she give you?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on!” she snapped. “Throw me a bone here. Whatever it was, you managed to hide it –”

“I told you already, Donna. Stop right now. Write your report but stop right now.”

“I'm not going to let you get away with government property theft and you're a fool if you think I'll –” she stopped talking abruptly, because for a fraction of a second Daken's face had contorted to an expression of pure rage, nostrils white and eyes blazing – and then his features smoothed suddenly, went as blank as they'd done days ago in Tokyo. This was a mask, a true mask, and Quentin asked himself what it hid – what _had_ it hid –

Such thoughts, right now? What was wrong with him?

“This keeps getting better and better.” Daken's voice was dry and even. “Government property. Stop now, Donna. Don't worry – they'll come after us sooner or later, and none will be left unpunished. None.” The last word was uttered in a tone that sent chills down Quentin's spine; it was the tone of someone who had made the decision to kill _._ He had never heard it – he had never been faced with such an affront to his own blood, his own family – he couldn't even pretend to understand what was Daken going through right now.

She went on unflinching. “What did she give you?”

“They'll kill you if you keep digging, Donna. Please leave it at that.”

“Who's they?”

“I'm trying to _help_ you!” Daken snapped.

“ _Who's they_ , Daken?”

“Your _government_ , Donna. Your government will kill you.”

 

* * *

 

She let them go.

She'd told them that things weren't even, had assured them that they would be seeing her again once the results from Garner's autopsy were available, said she would find out the truth about what was going on.

Daken didn't repeat his warning.

But it had been heeded; Quentin saw it in the firm line of the woman's lips, in the curious glances she threw every now and then at Daken.

She took their statements, entering their infomation on the holo, and she stared for some time at Daken's bloodied knife in its evidence bag. “This blood is Garner's, isn't it?”

“Yes.” They told her what happened – more or less. It _had_ been self-defense, after all – Daken had thrown it to stop Garner from taking her gun in hand and shooting Idie. The agent, Donna Kiel, retrieved the gun. It didn't look like a regular model; certain elements looked as if they had been customised. Broo could have analyzed it better, but there was no retrieving it now.

So she let them go. She spared them all one last look – her eyes lingering on Daken with something like wonder hiding in their depths – and then told them, quite briskly, to go _._

Who was she? Who was she to Daken?

None of Quentin's business. She was _none of Quentin's business._

They teleported back to the school and reported all that had happened to the others. Daken let them handle it; he slumped into a chair and Laura stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, Daken's hand on top of hers. He was hardly even listening; he was just there, staring ahead with sheer exhaustion on his face. It was a trick of fate that saw him staring directly at Quentin, his fierce, unseeing gaze piercing Quentin’s very soul.

When they finished, they were asked again to repeat everything Garner had said, and at some point Daken stirred. “She,” he murmured, “Garner called the kid a she.” He looked up at Laura. “Has Broo finished?”

“Not yet.” She squeezed his shoulder.

“They abandoned her,” he said after a short pause. His eyes slipped shut. “It's the only thing that makes sense. It's absurd that there was no extraction team for the child – and there wasn't one because she _stole_ the child. She acted _alone_. And when they saw that the child was no longer with her, they sent the FBI to let her know she'd been abandoned. She had no choice but to kill herself.” It could be that what he was hypothesising was true – but there was no way to know for sure.

“They'll figure out that the child's corpse is here,” Billy said. They, they, they. All of them were using that word, too shocked to elaborate on what it _meant_.

Everyone but Daken. “Let them. _Lee_.” Daken looked at Jubilation. “This is big. They sent the FBI as if they were their errand boys – this is big.”

“Are we really assuming that the government has something to do with this?” Jubilation was even paler than her vampiric complexion usually allowed. “That the government are cloning and creating supersoldiers?”

“Children,” Laura said coldly. “The creations would be _children_.”

“We need to wait for Broo's results –”

“There's only one shocking thing that Broo's results could yet reveal, and that thing is my concern only,” Daken said, voice wavering slightly. God, Quentin thought, he needed to do something, needed to comfort him – “The rest is no surprise now, Lee, because Garner all but said it. There are more.”

Jubilation nodded. “I need to inform Alison.”

They all scattered, but Quentin lingered for a moment. He stared at the siblings, at Laura standing beside Daken; at Daken, who was shaking more and more, until he turned suddenly and buried his face against Laura's abdomen, his arms closing around her. She looked startled, but returned his embrace. Her gaze passed briefly over Quentin – but he clearly did not register as being someone of importance, and she looked back to Daken.

He was intruding.

He wanted to do something, wanted to comfort Daken somehow – but he was no one, just an intruder in Daken's mind, and soon he would free Daken from his presence.

Quentin turned and left the room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : He was sitting on the lawn and no one had dared approach him and he was still reeling.


	11. Chapter 11

11.

“There is love in our bodies and it holds us together,  
but pulls us apart when we're holding each other –  
We all want something to hold in the night,  
we don't care if it hurts or we're holding too tight.”

Florence + the Machine – _The hardest of hearts_

 

 

Daken was still reeling.

He'd been ready when Broo finally called him in with the results. He'd been ready for hours, been ready ever since he'd opened his eyes and seen the kid beside his bed. He'd known that Broo's theory was true, had felt it in his bones when Garner spoke and cemented the certainty of it all in his mind.

That knowledge had given him a chance to prepare. Eventually, Broo had called him in – and Daken went in alone, barring Laura from joining him. She'd kept him company ever since the attack, but he had to face Broo alone.

He was still reeling.

He'd sat and listened to Broo speak, sat and stared at the child on the autopsy table. There was a chance he'd blacked out at some point, because Broo had hesitantly touched his arm and asked if he was fine. Daken had jerked away from him, because _Broo_ wasn't allowed to touch him – not after what he'd just told him. The alien needed to keep away, for Daken had found himself hating Broo with such intensity that it scared him. He didn't want to hurt Broo – this wasn't his fault, after all. He was only doing his job, and he'd been incredibly delicate about it. Daken at least owed it to the Brood not to tear him to ribbons for something that wasn't his fault.

He was still reeling.

He was sitting on the lawn and no one had dared approach him and he was still reeling.

He'd _told_ Mystique. He'd _told her_ , all those years ago. He'd told her that they were _weapons_ , that they would always be taken and _used_ as weapons. Why hadn't he realised that it would never end? That his destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D. would accomplish nothing?

He'd spent hours trying to contact Eike, and Eike hadn't answered _once_. In those long hours after the attack, once he'd felt able to manage a conversation without breaking down, and with Laura sat beside him, he'd tried to call Eike and Maiko... but there had been no answer. After returning from the situation with Garner, he'd tried again and again – until, eventually, at what would be midnight in Madripoor, Maiko finally answered her phone.

Her voice had been firm, but, if one listened as closely as Daken did, they would pick up on the underlying waver. She'd told him that Eike was fine, that he was in his room, that they were dealing with things. She'd told him to call again once Broo's results were ready.

But she was hiding something. Daken could only guess that Eike was reeling as well, and that Maiko didn't dare tell him. She was good, his amazing daughter – but Daken had picked up on the tension in her voice.

And now Daken could only sit on the lawn and dread having to call again in order to relay Broo's results.

He was _reeling_. This was a violation of a different kind, the lowest sort of blow. It drew a new layer of horror over something that had been unspeakably terrible to begin with. And, amongst all the pain and trauma, there was a terrible doubt in Daken's mind. Had Mystique _known?_ She might have. Hell, she'd had her own ideas about the child's paternity, having spent months believing that the child she was having would be Creed's. Was it so strange to wonder whether she'd done tests to satisfy her own curiosity?

But even if she _had_ known, she hadn't told Creed. With so much hate burning hot in his veins, Daken had to be objective: Creed had been an animal, a vile, unrefined beast – but even he wouldn't have done what he had if he'd known.

Damn Mystique. And damn himself for not realising a damn thing. He'd been blind never to doubt anything. Hadn't he smelt his own scent on the baby, and been enamored with Eike from the moment he'd seen nem? But Mystique, damn her – the whole sorry business could have been avoided, if only she'd been honest with Daken and Creed –

But he was being unjust. Mystique could have been as ignorant as the rest of them about it all. Daken was thinking ill of the dead, blaming everything on _her_ to avoid dealing with all the guilt that sat heavy on _his own_ shoulders.

He'd been a stubborn fool when Eike had been kidnapped. Mystique had insisted immediately on asking for help, but he hadn't wanted to, being sure that they'd find Eike quickly with their own resources. And he could have nipped everything in the bud – hell, he'd known Creed would hurt Eike. He'd known, because the Eike from the future had implied as much. Daken shouldn't have contented himself with just leaving Creed to rot in prison; Mystique had been sure that that would be enough, been certain that simply thwarting the efforts of anyone that tried to free Creed would be enough. No – with hindsight, Daken knew that they should have done things _his_ way. He should have disposed of Creed, sent an assassin to the prison to have the bastard killed before he could do any more damage. Or, better yet, he should've gone in himself. And yet, he'd done nothing instead. He'd let everything go to hell. He'd _let it happen._ He –

No. _No_ , dammit. He wasn't going to have a breakdown on the lawn of the fucking Jean Grey School. He wasn't going to wallow in self-hate like a fool. This train of thought wasn't good – it had _never_ been. He _had_ to believe that he had done all he could. He _had_ to believe that, despite knowing _in advance_ , there had been nothing he could have feasibly done to prevent what had happened – he _had_ to believe that everything would have happened _anyway_ – he _had_ to.

He had to believe that, or else he'd go mad.

He had to keep it together.

For Eike's sake, he had to keep it together.

That he could do – he had a lifetime of training to back him up.

And yet, oh, there was a tightness in his chest, a need for –

Daken spent the rest of his day in his room, ignoring Laura in the sporadic instances where she'd come to knock on his door. He waited in the faint hope that Eike would at least get a little sleep. He doubted that ne would manage to – but he didn't want to risk waking nem up on the off chance that ne was sleeping, only to bring nir world crashing down.

It was only when evening came that Daken called Madripoor. He called Maiko, rationalising that it would be best to speak with her first, to find out from her how Eike was doing.

Or maybe, he thought with a grimace, he only wanted to delay the inevitable.

It turned out that Eike had slept a while, curled up around Maiko after they'd spent some hours talking.

Good. That was – good, actually. Talking was good.

Daken released the breath he'd been holding and fell back on the bed.

“Should I come to you?” he asked – but what sort of question was that? Of course he ought to have gone to them. He ought to have dropped everything and gone to his child –

“I –” Maiko hesitated. “I don't think that's a good idea, otousan. Your being here would...” She hesitated again.

“It would only make the situation worse.” Daken shut his eyes. “You can say it, Maiko – I'm too emotional and Eike needs stability.” He deliberately echoed the words she'd spoken years before, when she'd confronted him about his selfish reactions.

“I'm sorry, otousan.”

“Don't be. This is about what's best for Eike – if you think it's best for me to stay here for now, I will.”

“Yes. Sorry. Eike will come around eventually – she has to.” She spoke more to herself than to him. “Just – keep doing what you're doing, otousan.”

“You mean nothing.”

Maiko sighed. “Otousan. Has – has the Brood finished his tests?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“They confirm that his theory is correct.”

“Okay.” Maiko's voice remained steady, as if she'd anticipated the result for some time. She'd had time to process it, of course – much as Daken had. “Do you want to tell Eike?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

There was a silence too long for comfort. Daken waited, focusing on his breathing – in and out, in and out – _come on, I can do this_ –

“Papa?” Eike's voice was very quiet.

“Monkey. Hey.” Oh, God. How could he tell her?

“Hey. Did you sleep?” This again. How could Eike worry about him when really, it was her that ought to be reeling now?

“Not really, monkey, no. Maiko told me you did, though?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good, monkey. That's good.” The pause stretched until the silence became unbearable. Daken steeled himself. “The results are in, Eike.” He had to be quick and precise – he couldn't prolong this agony, had to be firm so that he didn't cause Eike any more stress than was absolutely necessary. “They confirm the doctor's theory. The child was your clone. She was cloned using genetic material from your ovaries.” God, his words were so clinical, so devoid of all warmth. “The DNA –”

Daken cut himself off. God, no, he couldn't do it. He needed, oh God, he needed –

“You think I can come there?” Eike said suddenly.

Daken blinked, stunned. “What, monkey?”

“There at the school. I want to see her. You think I can?”

“I – sure, monkey. If you're sure...” Daken was on the move immediately, walking out the door, heading down the stairs. This would doubtless put a strain on Eike – but perhaps it would also help her. If she wanted to see the child, he ought to indulge her – but he had to tell her about Creed first. It was the obvious conclusion after what he'd already told her about the child being her clone, but he needed to say it out loud and ensure that she understood. Perhaps she was in denial. “Listen, monkey –”

“Of course I'm sure. I want to see her.”

“Yes.” He'd reached the lab, only to stop dead in his tracks as he saw Broo and Quentin step out of it. They stared at one another for what felt like years – but then Daken motioned for the Brood to wait where he was. Quentin left briskly, and Daken followed him with his gaze, chest aching as unwelcome emotion surged through him. _Stay. Stay. Stay. Oh please,_ please _. I can't do this alone. I need help, I need –_

He gritted his teeth and turned to Broo, whose red eyes were fixed upon him curiously. “Just a moment, monkey. I'm going to ask Broo.”

The child had been patched up already, fortunately. Eike wouldn't be forced to see her sliced open and exposed – heaven's knew, such a sight might have served to trigger flashbacks of the time she'd spent in the facility.

They settled to have Eike teleport directly into the lab. Broo motioned for Daken to step into the laboratory as he lowered the school's shields using the computers. They waited in silence for Eike's arrival. Broo wouldn't look properly at Daken, pretending instead to be inspecting various pieces of medical paraphenalia – but he did throw quick glances at him every now and again. The alien knew that any attempts to comfort him with soft words would not be welcome. He needed something else –

Eike teleported into the lab – but she wasn't alone. Chie was with her. _Chie?_ Daken had hoped to see Maiko. Why had she stayed in Madripoor? Had something happened? Was all not as calm on the island as she'd made it out to be? That was the _only_ reason for Maiko not to have joined her sister –

But no. He had to trust Maiko's judgement. There had to be some reason for her not coming, and for her not telling him of it, but that was at her discretion..

Broo started at seeing the couple, and held up a hand. “I'm sorry, I thought Eike would –”

“Doctor!” Eike twirled around to look at the alien. “It's me.”

“Oh.” Broo looked stunned. Seeing her for the first time was clearly off-putting. Broo couldn't know that it wasn't just an alias, of course – but Eike's appearance spoke of the shock she was in. She was drowning in an oversized hoody and a pair of jeans too large for her, her hair wilder than ever, as if she'd made no attempt to fix it. Daken approached her quickly, eager to comfort her, and Chie moved aside to accomodate him.

When he reached Eike, Daken stopped, unsure whether touch would be welcomed or dreaded until Eike looked up at him.

“Papa. Hey.” She smiled a thin smile and threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. Grateful that she wasn't pushing him away, Daken relaxed minutely into the embrace. She settled comfortably, her cheek brushing against his chest.

Broo didn't disturb them, instead approaching Chie and quietly asking who she was.

“I'm Chie,” she bowed. “I'm honored to meet you. I'm a telepath – I'm informing your telepaths of my presence as we speak.”

“I see. Might I enquire as to the reason for your being here?”

“Of course. I'm here to shield Eike's mind, as she's experiencing flashbacks and doesn't want to broadcast her... _experience_ to every receptive mind in the area.”

“Oh!” Broo sounded mortified. Daken had feared that Eike would be afflicted by flashbacks. Was there a chance she was hurting herself too? There had been a time where she'd raked her fingers hard over her skin as a coping method; the core behaviour remained in the way she dragged her digits over every available surface when memories of Creed or the scientists that had experimented on her reemerged. Thankfully she'd stopped, and never turned _her own claws_ on herself... but was there a chance that old habits might reappear in the wake of so much trauma? “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to –”

“It's all right, doctor,” Eike murmured, turning her head to look at the alien. “You're doing your job.” She stiffened – she must have seen the clone out of the corner of her eye. “Is that her?”

“Yes.”

She disengaged from Daken's hold and approached the autopsy table. The clone was covered with a blanket so that only her face was visible. Her appearance was even more disquieting in the light of the laboratory, her face no longer obscured by the dark of night. The similarities to Eike were downright disturbing – and the clone's genetic background was quite easy to discern if one paid close attention to her features.

Eike had a hand resting atop the table, her fingers tapping. She was entirely focused on the clone.

God. Daken tried to hold it together. _I can’t do this, I can’t – I need, oh, oh, I need –_

_Stop it._

He went to stand beside Eike – and he had to bring a hand to his mouth to muffle the sharp noise that threatened to leap from his throat.

Eike wasn't just drumming her fingers in a random manner.

She was communicating.

 _I'm sorry_ , she was telling her dead clone – over, and over again.

 _Oh, Eike_. Daken hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder. They were both looking down at the clone when Broo and Chie joined them. There was nothing for it. Daken had to tell Eike the truth, in no uncertain terms. He inhaled – but Eike beat him to it, in a merciful, yet unmerciful way.

“So, doctor,” she said lightly. “She's my clone.”

“Yes. I isolated and split your DNA – she's – your half-clone.”

“Mh-mh.” She was calm. There was no shell-shock, no horror. She was calm. Not even resigned – could it be that she was in denial? “And the rest? Your theory.”

“Ah – yes. I compared the DNA with data we had stored. The ova from which the female zygote developed was fertilized by –” He'd spoked clinically to do as little damage as possible, the same way Daken had – but, like Daken before him, he too had found himself unable to finish.

So Eike finished for him.

“By the animal,” she murmured, shuffling closed to Daken.

“Yes.”

Eike nodded calmly. Daken reached up to gently squeeze her shoulder and she placed her hand over his.

Broo looked to Daken, a question glimmering in his eyes. Daken nodded. For what good it could do–

Broo inhaled. “I – I also took the liberty to compare your DNA with Daken's, to – to reassure you.” He'd used some of the blood Daken had spilt on the lawn the previous night. “Daken _is_ your father, Eike.”

“I don't need your words to know that,” Eike said, as coldly as she'd said that same night. “But thank you.” She tapped _love you_ on the back of Daken's hand. Daken felt his breath hitch.

“Eike –”

“I told you, papa,” Eike tilted her head as to place her cheek on their hands, “I don't care. I really don't.”

“But –”

“You're so stubborn,” Eike murmured, raising her head to look at him. Her eyes were sad, but filled with love, and they made Daken's chest ache. “He was just flesh. I didn't even know him – he was just a disgusting lump of flesh, and he's dead now. I don't care if – if a quarter of me came from him.”

That wasn't true. That couldn't be true. She'd been hurt in unthinkable ways – the knowledge ought to have shocked her. It ought to have made her reel. And yet – she was right. She'd never even met Creed. He'd hurt her terribly as a stranger, and if she preferred to think of it that way – if that rationalisation was what allowed her to survive the whole experience – then Daken had no right to force her to go about the healing process any differently.

“Are there other clones?” Eike asked after a moment.

Broo cleared his throat. “There very well could be. We'll investigate. Alison should be able to pull plenty of strings in the Oval Office.”

“We need to find them.”

“Of course.”

“We need to save them. Save them all.”

“We will,” Daken said. _Don't make promises you can't keep, you idiot –_ but he _needed_ to reassure her. “We will, Eike, I promise.”

“Yes. Thank you, papa.” She looked back at the clone. “I won't forget you, imouto.”

Little sister. She'd called the clone _little sister._

 _You may have_ thousands _of them, Eike._

Eike passed her hand over the clone's arm. She inhaled. “Can I stay with her for a while?”

Alone, she meant. Broo agreed immediately. He told her she could have as much time as she needed. Daken wanted to stay – but he could use the oppurtunity to do a little bit of investigating. He and Broo went to leave the lab, and Chie fell in line behind them, as silent as she had been throughout the exchange, as silent as she'd always been during Daken's meetings.

When they were out of the lab, he turned to look at the woman. “Chie? A word?”

“Of course.” She held herself straighter, hands going behind her back – a daughter-in-law-under-scrutiny attitude he usually found quite amusing.

Not now, though. Broo left, telling Daken to call him when Eike was finished, and Daken turned on the short-haired young woman. She was Maiko's – she wouldn't let anything slip. If Maiko was set on hiding the truth about the state of Eike's wellbeing from him, Chie would support her. Daken was glad that Maiko had found someone so loyal – and glad that Eike could depend on the telepath.

But Chie was also under his chain of command. “Tell me how Eike is. How she _really_ is.”

“Yessir.” She squared her shoulders in the manner she always did during debriefing. “She's coping, sir. Just barely. But Maiko is with her.”

“Is she hurting herself?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure?” She hadn't been around the first time. She hadn't seen it. But Maiko would know the signs –

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“You talked about flashbacks. Is she experiencing them now?”

“No, sir.” He didn't miss the flash in her eyes. “This is just a precaution, really – she isn't experiencing them extensively. She –” she grimaced. “Sir, may I talk frankly?” She didn't wait for his answer, and said quickly: “For now, she feels really strongly about not talking with you about – about what – what happened. She doesn't want you to worry. But she's going to – she promised so. She needs some time, she said. Maiko doesn't want to insist, and – if I may?”

He nodded. He wanted to tear at her for what she was saying, but he nodded. This was what he'd thought – Eike didn't want to talk. But she would need to.

“I think Maiko's right. Eike's setting boundaries, sir, and we should let her.”

“She can't be left to her own devices.”

“No, sir, I agree. But she's talking, sir. With Maiko, and with me. She's not alone. She _is_ dealing with – with what – what happened.” She grimaced again. “It's a _terrible_ thing that happened, and she will need time, but she's not alone. We're doing all we can, sir.”

That left a sour taste in his mouth. So she was dealing with things – not hiding, and talking as she needed to. It was good. It was excellent, actually – she wasn't making the same mistakes Daken had. She was managing, just... not with his help.

Even so, the urge to tear into something was strong. Judging from Chie's expression and body language, it was clear to see that she thought he might harm her for what she'd said – for daring to tell him that Eike didn't want to talk to _him_ , and that he should let her carry on like that.

He was reeling. He needed –

_Stop it now._

It was good. It was _good_. Eike wasn't alone; she had her sister with her, and there was a skilled, loving telepath helping them. Daken's feelings on the matter didn't mean a thing – this was about what was good for Eike. It felt like some truly horrid cosmic joke, like karma kicking him in the face. He'd even told Laura that Eike would need to learn to stand on her own two feet, because he wouldn’t be around much longer – and something awful had come along, and, sure, Eike was reeling from the blow, but she was coping; she was managing by her own means, and wasn't relying on Daken for anything.

But it felt so wrong. It felt _so_ wrong.

He hoped he was doing the right thing – he really hoped so.

“Are you _sure_ she isn't hurting herself?”

“Positive, sir.”

“Alright. Just keep an eye on her.” He shut his eyes. “I trust you. I'll wait for her to reach out.”

 

* * *

 

They left shortly after that, and Daken spent the next few days in a worried haze.

He would call the kids and Maiko would tell him how things were doing in Madripoor, and they would talk about everything but the enormous hole the revelation had blown in their lives. Maiko would assure him that they were handling things, that Eike was coping, that ne was talking about what had happened, and that ne would surely soon do so with Daken too.

He spent the days struggling to function, torn between hating himself for his decision and rationalising it.

“You're being an overdramatic fool,” Laura told him the next day. She was sitting across from him on his bed, cross-legged as she listened to him explain his thought process. “But you're doing what you think is right. If this is what Eike wants, and if it will help nem as you hope it will –”

“But –”

“Look, do you _want_ me to talk you out of this?”

“No. I want your opinion.”

“I just told you. I can disagree with it and still see the merits. This is not about Eike, Daken. This is about you.” She brought her fingers to her mouth. “You're doubting your _motives_. You're thinking that you should be there with Eike, but you also think that would be _selfish_ of you. You're thinking that Eike needs to be on nir own, but you find yourself wondering if this is _manipulative_ of you.”

“... yes.” He clenched his jaw.

Laura nodded. “You're wondering if you should act like Logan, and you're dreading you're acting like Romulus.”

Something was lifted off his shoulders as she spoke words so simple and yet, he realized, so true. _Laura. You know me better than myself._

He sighed. “Yes.”

Laura lowered her gaze, reached over to take a blade off his nightstand. She studied it intently for a while.

Then she spoke softly. “I think you're acting like Akihira, actually. You're setting Eike free.”

He had to turn and take a breath of air from the open window at that. _Akihira died on me. That's what am I going to do – dying on Eike – on Maiko._ Laura knew he was acting on the assumption he would soon be gone – she didn't know it wasn't _just_ an assumption; she was indulging him in this.

He felt Laura's presence beside him, felt her hand on his shoulder. “Ne will be fine, Daken. Ne's not alone.”

“Ne –” Daken sighed. “Yes. You're right.”

But it wasn't just Creed's ghost Eike was dealing with. Ne was having to get nir head around the issue of having been cloned too – something that Laura knew intimately. Daken knew that she'd spoken to Eike about it. Eike was set on tracking down all the clones (if they existed, of course) and Daken wanted to at least indulge nem in that – but all the investigations they'd done had led to nothing. Lee wasn't particularly worried – she seemed sure that Alison Blaire would take care of it once she got elected. She would be able to set up a taskforce, and would have access to plenty of intel – her own predecessor had been embroiled with the facility Eike had been held in, after all. Daken hadn't managed to get at him, at the time – a World War wasn't something he'd needed on his plate, even if he'd said otherwise to Rogers. He'd contented himself with punishing those directly responsible and knowing that the President would think twice about ever pulling such a trick again.

And now this had happened. He had failed.

But Daken doubted that the President knew anything about the sordid activities happening behind the scenes. He was dead meat anyway, about to leave the office as it was. Daken guessed that there was someone else behind it, someone even further up the chain of command – but he had no resources, and he didn't want to bother Kazuro with these things. The man would have enough on his plate without having to deal with his ex-employer.

So he would wait for Blaire to step in and do her pals' bidding in removing the remaining vermin from her ranks.

Of course, this plan relied heavily on the assumption that Blaire would be elected – but the early polls leaned overwhelmingly in favour of such a result. She would get in without a doubt.

Indeed, it was such a sure thing that a large number of ex-X-Men were returning to the school, to help or merely celebrate. It became a festive gathering, with old teammates running into one another and chatting about old times. There were so many mutants around that the school was almost impossible to walk through at times. It was annoying – especially because silence and worried glances came about whenever Daken passed by. That made him seeth – was nothing secret between these people? Did they have to share everything with one another?

“You're angry,” Lee said when he confronted her about it. “I get it. But I assure you, I only relayed our suspicions about Eike being cloned.” She hadn't told anyone the rest – there was that, at least. She'd said the more people they had in on the investigations, the better. “We will take care of this, Daken. We will find out what's happening. You have my word.”

It had been oddly comforting to hear her say that – to be reassured that he wasn't alone, that he didn't have to face this by himself. He found himself clutching at that at night, as he turned in his bed, over and over, waiting for sleep that never came. He would throw his covers aside and watch shadows move across the room. He wasn't alone. He had stopped being alone so long ago – and he had Laura.

But that wasn't enough. Laura was his sister and he loved her and he didn't know what would he do without her – but she wasn't enough. He knew what he needed –

And he knew that it wouldn't do. So he would cover himself again, shaking, and sleep wouldn't come, oh, it wouldn't.

Election Day came, but Daken paid little attention to it. He passed it in Broo's lab, rummaging with the alien through old databases to find clues as to the existence of old bases or anything similar that might have been used. They found nothing. They even accessed the FBI's database, as Donna had never shown up at the school after their encounter. It turned out that the case had already been closed, Garner's death ruled out as suicide. It reeked of cover-up. Daken had been right – someone high in the FBI's ranks was involved with whatever was happening behind the scenes, with whoever was using the facility's old resources. He hoped Donna would heed his warning – he didn't want her death on his conscience, too.

They only emerged that evening, and just happened to be on the lawn when “Her Majesty, the Queen of Wakanda” Ororo Munroe arrived, along with her teenage daughter and young man who, judging from Lee's squee of delight (a sound which Daken never thought he'd hear the likes of from its owner), was probably Shogo, Lee's son. She hugged him so tightly that, Daken surmised, she probably hadn't seen him in the flesh in months.

The results were already in when Daken reached the cafeteria for breakfast the next day, and they utterly failed to surprise him.

The United States had a mutant President.

He was more surprised when he heard from Maiko half a hour later – apparently the President had invited her and Eike to the White House to speak with them before her inaugural address.

“That's good, darling,” Daken sat on his bed. “That's good. You did it.” _I'm so proud of you. So proud._

Maiko sounded breathless. “Oh, God, otousan. Maybe she wants to outline some pact? Maybe –”

“I wouldn't set my hopes too high, darling,” he grounded her back to reality. “She probably just wants to gauge you for now. But the mere fact that she wants to see you today is a great thing.”

“Yes, you're right. She must be thinking of a million things right now.” Maiko exhaled. “God.”

“I'm happy for you, darling.” Daken smiled. “Eike?”

“Oh, he's overexcited...” Maiko went on to detail the routine they'd slipped into. She reassured him that Eike was fine – sort of – and that they were dealing with everything, and that Eike would talk to him about it. “Soon, otousan, I promise. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yes, thank you.” Conversations with Eike had become more difficult – but they were talking, at least. Eike wasn't unwilling to chat about menial things – he was just adamant that he didn't want to go beyond basics whenever Daken worked up the courage to ask how he was.

He also brought up the business of the clones more and more, and it pained Daken to tell him how little progress they'd made every time he asked. “But we'll find them, Eike, I promise. If they exist them, we'll find them.”

“I know you will, papa.” Eike's utter faith in him hurt him more than everything else. “Hey, will we see you at the White House?”

“Today, monkey?”

“Yes! All the X-Men will be there – you're _nominally_ one now, you should come.”

Yes, he'd heard all about the preparations being made – teams were being split up to help with the security. But he hadn't been consulted.

“I'll make it so that I'm there, yes.”

“Great! See you there, then.”

Once the call was over, he searched for Lee, navigating around exhilarated students and adults who were even more giddy than their young counterparts. He eventually found her in the conference room.

“I'm coming to D.C. with you,” he said, in a tone that dared her to oppose him. He'd cooperated, played by their rules, caused no trouble in their school. This was a rare oppurtunity to see both his children again, and at the same time. He wasn't going to let that slip through his fingers.

“Of course!” She sounded surprised, as if she hadn't known that Blaire would be inviting Maiko and Eike. “I'll sort out getting you there.”

So Daken wound up on one of the Blackbirds. He took a seat alongside Laura, and realised as he was settling in that Quentin was there too. The man retreated into the cockpit as soon as he glimpsed him. Quentin had been behaving like that ever since the night of the attack. Before that, there'd been avoidance, sure, but always with that mortified look in his eye. Now, it was... different. It seemed that after their confrontation in front of the school, when Quentin had seen something he shouldn't have, something had changed. He looked... driven. There was something in his features, a dark, breathtaking beauty that made Daken's heartbeat quicken, his knees tremble – and yet, it betrayed the man's thoughts to Daken as clearly as if Daken were the telepath.

It was resolve. Cold, dark resolve. Quentin was set on doing something. He thought he had all the answers, and he was going to do something and hurt himself in the process. Daken wanted to stop him, to slam him against a wall and tell him he'd got everything wrong, that he'd done nothing that Daken held him at fault for – but to do so would betray how deeply he cared about the man, and that in turn would make Quentin fall into an even deeper spiral of self-hate. _I fucked it all up. I did. I'm sorry. I'm sorry –_

But there was no time to resolve it, no time to do anything. Not with his own impending death –

There had never been time for it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ “My fellow Americans. And everyone watching around the world – I _thank you_. I _thank_ you for the choice you made tonight. I thank you for joining me and my family and my friends on what is sure to be a brave new world. A world where we join hands and step into the future – together. A brave new world where we look to each other and we say three simple words –”


	12. Chapter 12

12.

“Holy water cannot help you now.  
See, I've come to burn your kingdom down –  
and no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out.  
I'm going to raise the stakes –  
I'm going to smoke you out.”

Florence + the Machine – _Seven Devils_

 

 

Maiko asked herself if she was doing the right thing.

Was she doing as Eike was asking because she knew that pushing nem wouldn't accomplish anything? Or was her compliance merely driven by her fear to leave Madripoor to its devices now that it couldn't survive on its own yet? She ought to take care of Eike, and nothing else – but Eike had thrown nemself into ruling Madripoor. It was a way to keep nir mind occupied – a way to earn forgiveness for what ne'd done – for killing Mystique.

It had been an accident – that was how Eike had rationalised it, and it was true; but Eike swung between hate and grief... between saying that Mystique had got what she'd deserved and then that ne should have at least tried to control nir claws – ne was blazing with fury, and blamed everything on the woman that was nir mother. Ne was furious at Mystique – for abandoning nem, for lying, for abandoning otousan – for showing up like that, sure of herself, a gun in her hand, ready to take Maiko down.

And despite all this, ne was _sleeping_. Oh, not on the first night – they'd _disposed_ of the body... and then, after some hours of talking, ne'd slept and had nightmares about the facility and Mystique's death – but now ne was sleeping _soundly_. It appeared absurd – but Chie said that Eike wasn't dreaming _at all._ Chie kept ready, of course – she was always at the brink of Eike's mind, ready to wake nem up if needed, but Eike slept. Ne'd said that ne had _decided_ not to let nemself be governed by this. It was a wondrous thing, in truth – Maiko would lie wide awake in Chie's arms at night and wonder at the steel of her sibling's will.

With the same adamant will ne was set on keeping otousan in the dark – but just for now. Ne said that ne needed time to process everything that had happened – that ne wanted to be _functional_ by the time ne would tell otousan. Ne was more preoccupied with otousan's reaction than anything else – ne appeared sure that, once made aware of what had transpired, otousan would have never forgiven himself for what had happened with Mystique... ne was sure that otousan would have tortured himself, thinking perhaps he should have come back to Madripoor together with Eike that day; ne was sure that otousan would have agonized over not protecting nem and Maiko from Mystique.

And Maiko knew that such predictions were bound to come true. Otousan hated himself _already_ , for having been unable to protect Eike from Creed. Creed, whom Eike said ne didn't care about. Creed, whom Eike kept calling _lump of flesh_ ; Eike kept saying that blood didn't make family... after all Maiko was nir sister – wasn't she? – and this _without_ sharing nir blood. Ne didn't care about the revelation regarding nir parentage, ne said. Of all the things that had happened, _that_ Eike didn't care about at all, ne reassured Maiko, and Chie confirmed that Eike wasn't lying to reassure her: ne really was serene.

Ne was set on finding and protecting nir clones, now, and on brokering the best deal possible for Madripoor, and ne passed nir time talking with Maiko, and submitted to Chie's gentle and constant prodding. Ne was being reasonable. Ne was being so reasonable, and Maiko wanted to believe that this would suffice, that she was doing all she could do... all that she possibly could do.

And so the days had passed, and she had constantly lied to otousan. She hated herself for doing this, but it was just temporary – Eike _would_ tell otousan what had happened: it was just a matter of time. And then... Maiko dreaded what would happen then. Eike could very well be as adjusted as ne could be by the time ne decided to talk with otousan – but saying what had happened would bring to relying what Mystique had rambled towards the end: _You told me I'd die because of you_. It was something that had obviously been told to the woman by the Eike that had come from the future. And otousan would have never managed to keep his emotions hidden – everything was bound to come out, and Eike would discover what, exactly, otousan had always tortured himself over. Not just his not being able to protect Eike, something that Eike had always said ne didn't hold him at fault for – but the terrible knowledge that otousan had had at least _some_ means to _prevent_ what had happened from happening.

Would ne hate otousan with the same intensity with which ne was hating Mystique? Otousan would have _let_ nem, without a doubt. Or would ne see that regrets were pointless, would ne forgive otousan, maybe even come to forgive Mystique one day? Either way, their family was bound to come out of this in pieces. Dark times were ahead, and Maiko didn't know – she truly didn't know – what to do. This was a terrible conundrum, and she only wanted to do what was best for Eike. So, for now, she was doing Eike's bidding, she was supporting nem in this – and constantly worrying she was being a terrible selfish monster.

And yet, Maiko knew she wasn't equipped to deal with this. She knew that one day, all that had happened would hit Eike hard; and that day, only _otousan_ would be able to help, would know how to relate, what to say. Otousan had killed his adoptive mother by accident – he would know what to tell Eike. Otousan would know –

God. Otousan. Maiko grimaced and crossed her legs, then threw a glance at Eike, that was chatting away with some guards. They were bound to see otousan today. Eike had said ne'd asked him to come to the White House. Eike had asked – and so otousan would come.

Otousan was bound to ask her if Eike was hurting nemself; and Maiko wasn't sure of the answer. In truth, ne wasn't – not per se. Chie always stayed in Eike's mind, and had been able to reassure Maiko that what Eike was doing to nemself _didn't_ hurt nem. But Eike was effectively changing nemself in order to gain some peace of mind. Didn't it count as self-harm? Psychologically, Maiko was sure it could. If only Eike had decided right away to speak to otousan, instead of swearing Maiko to secrecy out of nir worrying about otousan –

Dammit, this situation was going to backfire horribly –

Maiko sighed and settled for a moment against Chie's warm body, and Chie's wrapped an arm around her shoulders. This wasn't appropriate behavior to keep just outside the Oval Office, maybe, but Chie gave her that strenght she truly needed right now – a little extra bit of confidence.

The door to the Oval Office opened and Jean Grey appeared. She beckoned them inside – there was a brief tense moment on the doorway, when she prohibited their entire entourage to come in. Then she paled, grimaced and permitted Chie's passing – Chie had probably told her she was going to protect Eike's mind to keep nir experience in the facility from being broadcasted.

Or rather: Chie was there to keep any wandering telepath from seeing what the hell had happened in Madripoor a few days ago.

The Oval Office. They were entering the Oval Office – Maiko exchanged a glance with Eike, that was keeping the aspect of a simple human guard. Blaire had expressed her preference for “Mystique” not being seen in the building for the moment. That had found them agreeing – they were trying to keep Eike from using Mystique's form too much.

Eike smiled at her, then they both returned their attention to the Office.

Alison Blaire stood near her desk, immaculate in a white pristine two-piece, surrounded by her security; her trusted advisor Hank McCoy sat on one of the sofas already. Blaire smiled a bright smile at seeing them, and Maiko reached her and shook her hand.

“Madam President,” she said, “Congratulations.”

Blaire cocked elegantly her head, then looked at Eike and Chie, an eyebrow arching.

Eike turned into himself – and everyone in the room jumped.

He was wearing _Mystique's_ costume – a variation thereof. White pants, a white jacket – a loincloth. The costume his future self had worn in the past, when he'd shown up. Was it a coping mechanism? There was something new to worry about now.

Maiko would have preferred if Eike had told her he'd meant to do this – she would have been better prepared to it.

He reached Blaire and offered his hand. “Madam President. I beg you to accept my sincerest apologies regarding what you suffered at the hands of my mother. There are no words to express how mortified I am.” He wasn't joking – he was deadly serious. He'd been shocked when Grey had said what had happened to Blaire years ago. Blaire must have heard it in Eike's voice, because she shook his hand firmly, her face pale, and nodded briefly. Eike grinned. “And congratulations, of course.”

Blaire sent her own entourage away, save from Grey and McCoy, and joined the blue mutant on the couch, Grey taking place behind them. Maiko and Eike mirrored their host and sat on the opposing couch, Chie standing behind them.

Blaire waved her hands. “Well. I'd advise you not to try killing me just now.”

Was it a _joke?_ “We have no intention of doing so.”

“Of course.” Blaire crossed her legs. “It wouldn't be beneficial now. So,” she sighed theatrically, a perfectly manicured hand posing on her knee, “Madripoor. You kids are creative, I give you that.”

Kids? She was underestimating them.

Good for them, then. They would play this game, and broker the best deal for Madripoor. Maybe this would permit to speed up the process – the sooner they could leave Madripoor, the better for Eike. Maiko wondered what would have Blaire said once they left the island after democratic elections were held to decide its new Governor. But before that, of course, they needed to win it a seat on the UN – among various things.

Maiko sighed. “We do try. Thanks for receiving us, Madam –”

“You.” Blaire interrupted her sharply, and looked away from Maiko, her gaze firmly fixed on Eike. “You, kid. Why are you doing this?”

“That was rude, Madam President.” Eike sat up straighter, “Very rude.”

“My apologies.” Blaire's eyes flickered just briefly towards Maiko's direction, but then returned to Eike, piercing him with her gaze. “You can tell us, kid. Why are you doing this?”

“Excuse me?” Eike's voice sounded confused – but Maiko had understood, of course. Why did everyone think that? Why did _everyone_ think she was using Eike? _Was_ she doing it and just lying to herself? “This what? Creating a safe haven for mutants? I thought you'd see the merits, seeing as you based your _entire_ campaign on being a mutant –”

“You're posing as your mother.”

“Ah.” Eike settled back in the couch. “As we've already said, nobody would have taken us seriously if I had tried the same trick. Would _you_ have? Would you have even invited us here today? I doubt it.”

“Your mother is dead.” She didn't even know how much truth there was in that statement.

“Ah, I see.” Eike didn't even wince – looking at him now, no one could have guessed what had happened. God. What was she doing, Maiko thought. What the hell was she doing? What sort of damage was she carving in Eike by indulging him in this? “Yes. I'm sorry my way of grieving doesn't meet your standards, Madam President.”

Blaire brought a hand to her mouth, fingers drumming lightly on her lips. “That telepath. Is she protecting you? Or is she controlling you?”

“Ali,” Grey hissed at the same time as Eike growled and sat straight again, and Maiko could only stare at Blaire, _Has she really just asked if – if we're_ mind-controlling _Eike?_

“Madam President, I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying,” Eike snarled, shaking just slightly. He looked up at Grey. “You? Are you up for round two? Why don't you show the President _why_ Chie is here? Why don't you show her why am _I_ using _her_? Oh, that would be quite the show. Come _on!_ ” he snarled, head snapping towards Blaire. Maiko set her hand on Eike's leg, hoping to calm him down. “Do you want to see a gutted kid, Madam President? It's _so_ entertaining.” He was bluffing, but his rage was very real.

And Blaire's implication was – shocking, horrifying, and hit too close home to Maiko's own self-deprecating doubts.

They all stared at each other – and Grey cleared her throat. “Ali, she's not using him – I'd have noticed the other day, had it been the case!”

“Yes.” Blaire cocked her head, sighed just so, the merest exhale of breath. “My apologies. I wouldn't have forgiven myself if I'd let something like this pass.”

“Of course.” Maiko, still reeling, tried to be objective and reasonable, and prayed that Eike would do the same. “I understand.”

“You understand that I can't simply trust you – that I can't simply take everything for granted. Everything needs to be scrutinised thoroughly.”

“Of course –”

“Which is why,” Blaire interrupted her again, “Now I want to talk about your father.”

 

* * *

 

Father? Why would Blaire want to talk about him? It was all settled, father wasn't going to be a problem – Eike narrowed his eyes as he looked upon the woman – the President. He was still reeling, her insinuation rude and incomprehensible. He was still reeling, because for a split second he'd thought this would end – that Grey would have accessed his mind, would have _seen_ what he'd done – they would have lost everything, had that been the case. They would have lost _Madripoor_.

Here he was, a matricide, and he was only worrying about his crime being exposed. But he'd lost too much to lose Madripoor, too. He was going to show mother that she was wrong, so horribly wrong – he was going to show her that Madripoor would thrive.

“What about him?” asked Maiko calmly. How could she be so calm after what Blaire had said? Her self-control was amazing. His amazing sister, who loved him, understood him – who was protecting him even if she didn't agree _at all_ with what Eike was doing. He saw how she was every time she talked with otousan, he saw how she grimaced on the phone –

“Your father is a criminal.”

“Is he?” Maiko cocked her head. “Is there some proof, Madam President?”

Blaire clenched her jaw. “It has been brought to my attention that he leads the Yakuza.”

That again? How annoying. Were they just trying to find excuses not to work with them? They should just say so and stop wasting their time.

Maiko sighed and waved a hand. “No, he doesn't. I assure you, Madam President, he doesn't.” He'd wiped out anything that would link him to it.

“Your human guards are Japanese. A good number of your most trusted mutant guards are Japanese.”

“Oh?” Maiko sat straighter. “Are you equating being Japanese with being part of the Yakuza, Madam President?”

That was a really thin layer of ice Blaire was treading on. “No. Of course not.”

“Then I don't see what the problem is, Madam President.”

“I can't commune with a criminal organization from another country. I won't have surprises on this,” Blaire said evenly.

“No, Madam President, you won't,” Maiko said firmly, equally toneless.

Blaire nodded stiffly. “All right. But there's still another problem.” Her advisors were nervous. Grey's eyes were shifting; Beast's were lowered. What was she going to play at, now? “Your father killed Americans.”

Well, of course he had. Father had been an assassin, in his youth; he had killed more than just _Americans_ , for sure.

“What are you referring to?” Maiko said calmly – but her heartbeat was strange... it had accelerated.

“You know full well what I'm referring to. The S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier incident.”

The fucking – how dared she? How dared she pull this? That was settled. That was taken care of. That wasn't going to be a problem –

“The S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier incident was caused by Mystique, in response to –”

“Please.” Blaire held up a hand. “We all know the truth here. Mystique is dead,” _yes she is, dammit, I killed her_ – “And your father caused that incident.”

Maiko was sitting in a very composed way. Eike wondered how could she seem so calm: her heartbeat betrayed to him her anxiety. “Are you recording us, Madam President?” she asked coldly.

“No. I'm not.” Blaire shook her head – she wasn't lying. “There's no need to lie here, we all want the same thing. But this poses a problem. Your father razed that place and caused countless deaths.”

“They deserved it,” growled Eike, and Blaire had the grace to wince.

“Whether I agree is irrelevant. I am the President of the United States, and _Americans_ died that day. I cannot be assumed to condone this. My political enemies could use this, and you know it.”

“There's no proof, Madam President,” Maiko said, “No proof at all. Had there been, measures would have been taken towards our father immediately –”

“My predecessor –” Blaire grimaced. “I know he may have been entangled with this. And so, he may have access to information I don't have. This can be used against me – against you, too.”

“And so what do you propose?” Maiko said firmly. She was in her lawyer mode – brisk and professional, the epitome of politeness to hide the gears turning in her head.

“Your father needs to stand trial.”

How dared she? How could she say it, how could she just sit there and propose something like that? The nerve of her! She was trying to fuck them over, she was trying to fuck father over, oh but Eike wouldn't have let her. Father had done everything for Eike – he had killed those animals _for Eike_. It was Eike's turn now to –

“Eike.” Maiko's voice, soft and firm. He realised he was on his feet – a growl still reverberating in his throat, claws out. Blaire had her hands up, light around her fingertips, and Beast had thrown an arm in front of the President protectively. Grey was staring at Eike's hands, a furrow in her brows.

Eike retracted his claws; maybe Grey recalled how they were supposed to be, from having seen them unsheathed in Madripoor. _At least I can't kill anyone on accident_ now, he thought bitterly. He sat back on the couch.

“Sorry about that,” he shrugged. “I'm sorry, Madam President, I must have misheard.”

“No, you didn't.” Blaire lowered her hands; Beast lowered his arm. “Hear me out.”

“Of course.” How could Maiko still be willing to listen? The damn woman wanted to harm father!

But Maiko was right – they should let her talk, understand what the hell did she want to do, how was she planning to fuck them over.

“This is a delicate situation, and it can lead to problems for this office. All it would take would be a whisper to a journalist – and all would fall. We can't afford this – but we can take it in stride, before it comes to that. We can pilot everything. We can put him on trial, on our rules, with our attorneys – show the world a grieving father. Show what was happening in that facility. They were only told, never shown.”

“A farce.”

“Yes.” Blaire cocked her head. “We could cut him a good deal.”

A farce. A farce, at the expenses of using Eike – of using what had happened to Eike. But if that was the only way of protecting father – Eike would do it. He could protect father – he knew he could. It was time for him to grow up, do something in return, take care of father how father had taken care of him –

“ _We could cut him a good deal_ means you _do_ intend to send him to prison,” Maiko said sharply.

“Well, yes.” Ah, no. That wasn't going to happen. “He _did_ kill Americans. Hell, I saw the files – the photos. I saw what he _did_ to that man – to Richard Williams.” Blaire was a little green – Eike wondered how did Williams look like in those images. Was there a pained snarl on his face? Was his face even recognisable? Were his features covered with blood? It was too bad he had never been allowed to see the photos, Eike mused. He would have loved to. “We can't just let him go. But I assure you –”

“We won't stand for this,” Maiko interrupted her sharply. “There is no need for any trials, Madam President.” She sat straighter. “It's all taken care of and you know it.”

“No, I don't.” Blaire shook her head. “There is simply too much at stake here for us to fall because of this. Do you realise that if this comes out, I could even be forced to resign? There will be an upheaval already with me working with _Mystique_ when it was _Mystique_ to raze that place. If _this_ comes out –” Maybe what she was saying made sense. Maybe it was the most sensible solution – but he didn't want father to go to prison for him –

Eike turned towards Maiko. “Look, if –”

“No.” Maiko smiled softly. “I can't submit you to this, Eike. You'd have to testify, do you realize that?” She took his hand and turned to look at Blaire. “We won't stand for this, Madam President. I'm sorry.”

Blaire's lips were a thin line. “With these premises, I cannot work with you.”

“I see. So you would work with us only at the price of us doing your will. And here I thought we could work _together_ , for the good of mutants.”

“I'm not the one being unreasonable here,” Blaire shot, “You know it perfectly well. This is politics, child, not a magical world where your loved ones are safe. Your father committed _crimes_ and has to pay for what he did. At least tell me you will consider this.”

“We will,” Maiko said firmly, and then she went to her feet. Blaire did the same.

“I _do_ want to work with you. I think we can do great things – mend old wounds.” She looked softly at Eike – ah. Ah! The bitch. The unbelievable bitch. _That_ was her game – what a bastard.

She knew already that Eike had been shocked at knowing what mother had done to her, because Grey had told her so. A glance at Grey confirmed it – she was grimacing just slightly. And now Blaire wanted to use Eike, push on the shame he'd felt. She thought he was easily influenced. She wanted to use Eike to paint herself as a benevolent leader.

Cut a good deal for father – sure. “And I can help you find those clones.”

And now she'd gone and ruined it. Eike growled. That was emotional blackmail, plain and simple – she'd overplayed it; her heart skipped a beat and she blinked, the only signs she'd realised she had just fucked this up badly.

Eike scoffed. “You'll do it anyway. You're _heroes_ , aren't you?” He got up, ignored her proffered hand and turned into the alias he'd used to get inside the building. Beast looked mortified, ears lowered just slightly – he wasn't even looking at Eike.

What a fucking waste of time. They left the Oval Office, and walked the hectic corridors in silence, surrounded by their entourage, Chie just behind them. They had to leave – what should they do now? Eike glanced sideways at Maiko: her heels clicked on the floor as she marched. Her nostrils flared and she was clenching and unclenching her scarred hand – she was furious.

He smelled Grey's scent and whipped around; their guards stopped around them. Grey reached them – she pressed a hand to her side. “She's right,” she exhaled, “You know that. You had to know this would happen –”

“Please leave it at that,” Maiko said firmly. She wasn't prone to bursts of anger – but if Grey kept insisting, oh, she was going to be faced with a fury.

“Yes. The President only begs you to reconsider.”

“We will.”

Grey nodded. “She also invites you to stay for the Inaugural Ball. You're Madripoor's representatives – it won't be frowned upon. It would be best for you not to show up during the Address, though –”

Maiko inhaled – probably about to tell her politely where Blaire could shove her invitation. But then she sighed. “Of course. We accept your invitation.”

“Good. I'll show you a room wherein you can wait –”

She led them through the corridors to a large salon. At the door, she caught Maiko's arm. “We _do_ want to work with you,” she whispered urgently, “Ali will do good things for this country. For this world. You _know_ that –”

“We'll think about it.” Maiko escaped Grey's grasp and shut the door in her face. Fucking unbelievable. This had all been so fucking unbelievable. Eike fell on a chair as Maiko began pacing, a grimace on her face – even Chie didn't manage to get through to her; the telepath eventually sat beside Eike, and the guards positioned themselves all around the three of them. Chie shot him a timid smile – God, he hated this situation, hated having her constantly at the brink of his mind. But he knew he needed it: he knew he needed someone to keep watch in case he really lost it. He was being too calm – even he knew this couldn't last. But he would be strong. He would be strong and survive this and protect father, and the mutants on the island – he wasn't going to let mother's death ruin everything. If only she'd listened! If only she hadn't been so set on stopping them, if only she'd come back sooner instead of playing horrible games!

He listened on to the cheering crowd outside the White House – when was Blaire going to give her speech? Surely she was about to.

He and Chie watched upon Maiko in silence. She was tapping furiously on her phone, walking up and down in front of them, a furrow on her brow. Then the door to the room opened: Eike smelt father; he turned just as Maiko stopped walking abruptly, and saw father coming in.

Father looked worse for wear, worse than he'd been the day after the attack, dark circles under his eyes. Jesus Christ, was he sleeping at all?

Father reached them – he stood awkwardly just beside Eike. “Hey.”

“Hey, papa.” Eike smiled brightly up at him. He needed to show father that he was fine. He patted his hand on the seat beside him and father sat. “Auntie?”

“I left her with the X-Men. I got the feeling this was a private matter?”

“Yes,” Maiko reached them as father caught Eike's hand. “I didn't want to force her to choose where her loyalties are.”

Father cocked his head. “I gather it didn't go as you expected, dearest.”

“No.” She explained quickly what had transpired, what Blaire had said – father listened on intently, fingers caressing lightly Eike's palm.

“Well,” he said when Maiko finished, “That certainly makes sense.”

Maiko blanched – father's voice had been far too light. “Otousan, we won't stand for that –”

“Peace, darling. I didn't say I'll throw myself into their arms – I said it makes sense. We should have thought about it, too.”

“We didn't think about it because _we had it covered_.”

“But we certainly should have.” Father sighed. “What's your take?”

“I don't know.” Maiko passed a hand through her hair. “Dammit, we're in their hands and they know it. They could even do it _anyway_ – they know Mystique is dead and you are the only culprit.” Fortunately she didn't look at Eike when she said so – had she, father would have surely noticed something. Dammit: hadn't he killed mother, maybe she could have been convinced to act as a scapegoat... Eike bit his tongue at his own cold thought. “But we have a weapon, too. I'm sorry to ask you, otousan, but could you pass me that video?”

Father stiffened. “What video?”

“The video. Phoenix's video. If they think they can just fuck us over, they're going to go down with us. Let's see what the world leaders have to say about some things Phoenix said – we'll be left the only mutant nation standing.” Father was staring up at her, rigid – how could Maiko not notice that something was clearly wrong here?

“You want to use the video?” father said, voice strangled, “Your plan is using the video.”

“Yes.” Maiko shrugged. “I'm sorry, otousan, I know you need it for your things – look, if you don't want to give it to me, can you keep it ready in case we need to –”

“Maiko, it's gone. You know that.”

“Oh, come on, otousan, we both know that's not true.” But as she said it, her voice wavered... because father appeared shocked: he was staring up at her, eyes wide, horrified.

“You _didn't_ adjust your plans. You kept weaving them on the assumption that the video was _still in existence?_ ” father said sharply, voice lowered.

“Yes?” Maiko was pale. “But –”

“How _stupid_ –” father began viciously, only to shut his eyes and continue, quietly, “How stupid I was, not to check on your plans? How blind –”

“Otousan?” Maiko widened her eyes. “You mean that it _is_ gone?”

“You knew it!” Father snapped his eyes open and whispered furiously: “You knew it and I confirmed it. On what grounds did you think I was lying to you?” Their guards were listening in – they were pretending not to be, but they were.

“But you did! You _did_ lie!” Maiko whispered, “You lied on the time of the deleting, and that video was such a powerful weapon, it was absurd for you to delete it!”

“But I did,” father said quietly. It was as if he were speaking to himself – almost a statement.

“Why?”

Father whipped his head to the right to avoid her gaze, to avoid Eike's. What was he hiding? Why would he –

Maiko inhaled sharply. “You _aren't_ blackmailing Phoenix! Phoenix is blackmailing _you_!”

Father released a short bark of laughter – it shook, defeated. Was that the case? Was that really the case? Maiko dropped to a crouch in front of father, caught his hands.

“Otousan? What does he have on you? Please tell me. I can help... I'm your daughter, I'm your _lawyer_!”

Father turned his head again, and he looked down at her. He sighed. “Nothing, Maiko. He has nothing on me. He's not blackmailing me.”

“But you deleted that video!”

“Yes.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Father didn't answer right away – he blinked a few times, as if he were trying to decide what to say. What the hell was happening? What information could Phoenix have on father that they would force father to do as the man said? What had Phoenix demanded of father? What was his game? Why hadn't father told them? They could have helped –

Father sighed. “I just couldn't –”

The entire building _shook –_ the candelabra in the room came crashing down, pieces of glass shattered on the floor. Father was already moving – he wrapped his arms around Maiko and then positioned the both of them in front of Eike. “Situation?” he demanded sharply as the guards closed ranks around them – Mai, one of the Madripoor mutants, conjured a protective bubble around them all. The building shook again; Eike could hear screams from the outside – what was happening? “Chie! Situation outside!” father shouted. Eike turned his head to look at the telepath – she hadn't moved from her seat, wide-eyed and pale, lost in something they couldn't see –

“Chie!” Maiko cried sharply, and Chie whipped her head towards them.

“She's _dead_. She –”

“Who?”

“Blaire! Oh, God, it's horrible, it's –” she whined, rocking back and forth.

The building shook again; father released Maiko, reached Chie and slapped her hard across her face. “Keep it _together_. Blaire's dead?”

“Yes,” Chie exhaled, a palm pressed to her reddened cheek; she tried to get up, but stumbled – Maiko was at her side in an instant and helped her to her feet, an arm around Chie's waist. She threw a blazing glance at father, who ignored it, his gaze firmly trained on Chie.

“What is _happening_ outside, Chie?”

“I – too confusing –”

“ _Focus_ , woman!” father snarled as the building shook again.

“I – I.” _Eike. I need to leave your mind for now_ , the telepath's voice echoed in Eike's head.

 _Sure_. He doubted a telepath would stumble upon his thoughts right now. Chie straightened up almost as soon as she left his mind.

“Monsters – demons? They're attacking the crowd. It's a carnage –”

“All right.” Father looked around, then he motioned to a guard. “You. Try to teleport to Madripoor – see how's the situation there, see if it's under attack as well. Report when you're _sure_ it can harbor a retreat.” The man didn't move – he was of Madripoor's mutants, not one of father's old guards. He looked at Eike for confirmation; Eike nodded and he left. Father turned towards Eike. “Eike. Are you serious about Madripoor?”

“What?” Eike blinked in confusion – there was urgency in father's voice.

Father caught Eike's arms. “Are you serious about it? Blaire's dead, Eike, you're on your own. You will be the only mutant nation left standing. _Are you serious about Madripoor?_ ”

Of course he was – he had to be. Eike looked away, looked at Maiko, who was pale and wide-eyed – at the surrounding mutants. They counted on him. He couldn't let them down. “Yes.”

Father shut his eyes for half a second – and then he let go of Eike's arms. In the heavy silence that followed, broken by the building coming apart around them, Maiko's cell phone, that she'd been clutching madly at, beeped. She glanced at the screen.

“Madripoor's clear.”

“Good.” Father looked around. “You need to retreat. Check your resources, do a headcount – then send back help. Do not lower the island's shield.”

“We need to help now –” Eike whined.

“You're too little a group! What do you think you can do?” father snarled, “Eike, you're Madripoor's leader, you can't risk your life on the field. You will retreat – that goes for _you_ too,” he snapped, turning to look at Maiko, “Do _not_ lower the shields – send help through the teleportation room.”

“We can't!” Maiko shot back, “That would take too much time, they would arrive when it's too late –”

“You can't risk lowering the shields, Maiko! That could be the only thing whoever's attacking here is waiting for.” They all fought to stay on their feet as the building shook again – the screams from outside were deafening – “Do _not_ leave the island unfurnished, do _not_ act rashly – take your time, secure the island, and only _then_ send help here. _Do not lower the shields_ , you hear me?”

He was giving them directions as if he thought they were unable to come up with a sensible plan, as if they were children – Eike blanched.

He was giving them directions because he was going to _stay_.

“And you?” Eike questioned, and father turned to look at him – Maiko started. Perhaps she hadn't thought about it – perhaps she'd been lying to herself.

“Me? I'm your liaison, have you forgotten?” father said calmly, as if he weren't stating he was going to stay in that inferno, “I'm your spokesperson. My presence will reassure them that you _are_ going to send help. Now go.”

“But –” The building shook again, as if it was going to come down any moment, and father snarled.

“No time to discuss this! Go, go, go!” He broke to a run towards the broken windows, went out of them – Eike let out a cry. _No, no, no, your healing factor is all fucked up, you'll die, you'll –_

“Eike.” Maiko caught his hand. “He's going to be all right. Let's go.” She motioned to a few guards – “Go and wait outside the teleportation room, Eike will be right behind you.” They obeyed, disappeared one after the other, and Eike stared. _No, no, father will die, we need to retrieve him, he'll –_ “Eike. It's your turn,” Maiko said softly, and he obeyed, fingers closing rigidly around his cell phone, because there was nothing else he could do. They needed to act as quickly as possible –

He realised his ears had grown accustomed to the screaming outside the White House when he walked outside of the teleportation room, welcomed by the more normal sounds of Madripoor in the morning. The guards were waiting – waiting for an order.

He smelt Maiko behind him, and then beside him. All right –

There was work to do.

 

* * *

 

The world was on fire.

Quentin flew and destroyed and killed, disposed of the monsters that had ruined this day.

Just a few moments ago – had it been so? Or had eons passed already? – he'd stood with the others in front of the crowd gathered to see Alison, stood with the others to celebrate this joyous day. There had been so many people... so many, all so sure that nothing would happen... only there because this day was special, was important –

There were human protesters, too, gathered far from the crowd, their panels and their insults unimportant, unreadable from this distance, impossible to hear.

This was their day.

Today also marked the end for Quentin. Tomorrow, he was going to stand up and take responsibility for what he'd done to Daken. He'd seen Laura join them silently just as Alison walked to the podium, and he had wondered where Daken could be – with his children, probably.

Then Alison had spoken.

“My fellow Americans. And everyone watching around the world – I _thank_ you. I _thank_ you for the choice you made tonight. I thank you for joining me and my family and my friends on what is sure to be a brave new world. A world where we join hands and step into the future – together. A brave new world where we look to each other and we say three simple words –”

Three words now were burned in Quentin's mind, seared in his brain as he flew –

Never a chance.

They would never – never – have a chance. The world would always destroy everything, ruin everything, someone would always try to stop them –

A strange ray had it Alison and she'd dropped dead in Beast's arms and then there had been chaos – sheer chaos, creatures appearing from nowhere – the X-Men had split and had done what they did best: they'd protected the crowd. But the people gathered were simply too many for them all to be protected. Those that had owned teleporters had fled immediately; but the ones remaining were simply too much.

The X-Men had done all they could – but that wouldn't be enough. And Quentin had seen mutants die in front of him... mutants that had tried to defend themselves, but that had got torn to pieces. The X-Men had focused on defeating the threats, all wanting to focus on defending the mutants on the ground but there was simply _too much chaos_ for that. They'd had to focus on defeating the threats as quickly as possible, and worry of the dead and wounded later. Quentin had flown, did all he could – he'd worked in tandem with Billy: his spells woven in dead languages had torn the giant monsters' limbs apart, making them fall heavily in a cascade of blood as Quentin slowed down their descent to protect those on the ground. He lost the perception of time – at some point they'd apparently been joined by Madripoor mutants, but he had yet to chance upon them, as the X-Men had spread on all directions and could only count on the Cuckoos' directives.

He didn't know how they managed, he truly didn't – but eventually the nightmare was over.

That was a lie – that _first_ nightmare was over. But now it was time to deal with the wounded, the dead. The Bamfs helped, scattered on the agonized ground, and began the slow process of teleporting the wounded to safety. Quentin flew, flew above the ground, above the dead and debris and ruin. Why had this happened? Why had they let this happen?

 _Quentin?_ The low buzz of the Cuckoos' hive mind touched his. _Whoa! Are you alright?_

 _Yes_.

No. No, he wasn't. The last time he had seen something like this, it had been years ago, when he'd faced Evan – no, when he'd faced Apocalypse. The sky red with smoke and blood, the ground littered with dead bodies –

_You need to stop Jean._

_Jean?_ Perplexed, Quentin stopped mid-air.

 _She's a mess, Quentin_ , Celeste said. _Her powers are spiralling out of control_. Could anyone blame her? She had seen her friend, her once-teacher, her _President_ die – she had seen her dreams shatter in front of her eyes. _We really fear she's going to hurt somebody._

 _All right, give me her position._ Quentin flew, and soon enough he found her – but he heard her screams first.

“- happy? Are you happy now? That's what you _wanted_ , isn't it, she's dead, they're all _dead_ , are you _happy?_ ” As Quentin flew closer, he saw she was surrounded by tattered human protesters; on the ground lay their posters filled with anti-mutant slogans. Her powers were definitely off – she was moving the debris with the telekinesis, but there wasn't any force of will behind it, she had no control over it: they could easily hit some of the humans. And she was absorbing psychic waves from those gathered, and releasing it raw and wild –

Then someone screamed – not Jean, but one of the _humans_. Hoping it wouldn't be too late, Quentin touched Jean's mind. _All right, Jean, that's quite e–_

He was torn apart, his brain split in two as if an axe had hit his skull, and the Phoenix screeched in his ears, and screeched, and screeched – fire torn and split and encased away, stolen – his brain was on fire and Quentin screamed, fell on the ground. The pain was white and hot and terrible, blazing in his veins, cutting his nerves, cutting him open – he snapped his eyes open and saw Jean in front of him, Jean bleeding from her eyes... a flaming crown around her head.

“Je–” Quentin coughed up blood. _Jean! It's too much for you! Give it back!_

The Phoenix was ripped in half, ripped apart, and it was screeching, screeching, screeching –

 _Mine!_ Jean screeched, eyes wide.

 _Mine!_ Quentin screeched as he tried to get up, but he fell down again, crushed by her, _minemineminemine it's MINE_

 _It's c-c-c-calling me_ , Jean's thoughts stuttered.

_minemineminemine Jean it's too much, you can't control it –_

screams around them, she couldn't control it, was she harming those around them?

 _Jean you can't, it's mine hungerangerhungerangerhungeranger you could kill someone or you have_ already _give it back give it back give it_ back _–_

She _did_ try, she stiffened and tried to push but only other screams came.

Quentin took hold of her mind and tried to pull gently but it was _minemineminemineminemine._

 _Push. Come on, Jean, push! You can do it, I know you can, push_ , push –

 

Screeching, it took a hold of the human's mind along with the host and pulled. The human screamed but it didn't care for such things, mercy wasn't of it – it pulled. The host frantically tried to gentle its touch, but it shoved the host away and pulled. It couldn't be controlled, it couldn't be split, not anymore, not again, it was in and of itself, it was whole and as such it would remain, die and come back and die and come back but always whole –

 

The Phoenix snapped back whole into the host, blazing and tearing apart and shaking, and the human screamed:

“ _What have you done to me?_ ”

Quentin regained his vision, saw Jean bent down, arms covering her ears, her powers leaking through, dissolving the matter around them. She was out of control – the Phoenix had _torn_ her control apart.

“Little thief, little parasyte,” Quentin said, and Quentin blanched, “I am not for you.” _No. No, no, no no no –_

“What have you _done?_ ” the human/Jean screamed, her mind shattered, and the host/Quentin desperately tried to stitch the pieces together, but it was like trying to contain all the world's water into his hands and it slipped through his fingers – it couldn't be repaired, it could only be _contained_ , a dying star left in the wake of what Jean had been touched by, and Quentin –

– melted the atoms around them, forged a helmet out of stardust, and only when it enclosed itself around Jean's skull like a death sentence did Quentin recognise the design.

“I can't see,” she sobbed, but she would learn to peek from other's eyes, that was the only thing Quentin could have done short of killing her, and, “Quentin, your mind, it's on _fire_ –”

They were surrounded by flames and the host had been too occupied with the human's mind when really, there had been no need to worry, because now everything would burn anyway –

 _No_ , Quentin/the host screeched, and _no, don't you dare_ , and he pushed the human away to protect her – the human was thrown away at too-great-a-speed-for-the-atmosphere-of-this-planet, and the Phoenix cocked the host's head. Maybe the human would snap her neck and die; wouldn't that be amusing?

 _I'm in control_ , the host lamented. _I'm in control!_

I _am in control._ Ah, forcing itself to fit into this world's language was so tiring. _No. That is not right. This is a symbiosis. We coexist._

 _You don't_ get _to burn everything down!_

_It's how things are. Everything dies and comes back and dies and comes back and dies and comes back –_

_No, no, no_ – Quentin was a guest in his own mind, a little child throwing a tantrum, a terrified teenager curled up in Beast's lab as the Phoenix rushed through his veins for the first time. _I can control it, I can_ , he knew he could – he just needed to focus. He'd done it already, he'd done it for _years_ , he couldn't just let everything burn –

– a buzz in the host's ears; the Phoenix shut it down with ease –

It was too much, simply too much, he couldn't just surrender, he couldn't – he needed to focus –

“Hey,” Evan smiled, sitting on his tomb, legs dangling. “You can do it,” he said, and “Live,” and “It wasn't your fault,” and “Live,” and “Look. He's here,” and “Live.”

 _Live_.

 

* * *

 

The world was on fire, and the screams had stopped.

Daken walked among the debris and ruins and bodies with Laura, tended to the wounded and sent them away with the Bamfs. How many dead were there? Too many. Thousands – and Blaire. This was going to be a damn problem for Eike and Maiko. They would have to revise all their plans – at least there wasn't the danger of Blaire putting him on trial. But who would take Blaire's place now? The Republican candidate? Or would there be another election? They needed to tread carefully now, very carefully. Daken hoped his children had heeded his advice and secured the island before sending help.

He was covered in blood. The majority of it wasn't his – but at least some was. Thankfully his organs were undamaged, his torso protected by the padded vest of the costume – but he was wounded, and not every wound was healing. It had been a nightmare – an inferno. Hadn't Laura been fighting beside him, he could have died in this fucking square.

There was new screaming in the distance – how could someone possibly still have the force to scream? The sounds were carried by the still air, journeyed across this desolate battlefield – but no, it hadn't even been a battlefield. The forces had never been equated – it had been a coward's attack, an affront.

A column of fire erupted in the distance, and Daken exchanged a glance with Laura. There could be people in there, people that would need help to escape the flames. They set off for it, running over the corpses; the dead wouldn't mind, after all. He sensed others joining him and Laura, converging from all directions.

They'd almost reached the flames when a metallic hand fell heavily on Daken's shoulder, and Laura was brought to an halt in the same way. Colossus kept them pinned there. “Let the Cuckoos handle this.”

The Cuckoos to handle a fire? That was absurd –

It started raining, but it wasn't natural – Daken looked up and saw Ororo Munroe up in the air; Kaplan floated beside her. The flames resisted such an attack, and illuminated the pair's faces. They were grimacing. Daken turned towards the column of fire – was there someone in there? He thought he saw a shadow , but the flames were too wild to discern a form.

Why had all the big shots converged here, when there was so much to do?

Kaplan lowered himself, hovered a few feet above the ground. “The Cuckoos can't do anything.”

“Have faith in them,” Colossus said sharply. What was happening? There was something he was missing – Daken looked upon the flames. No, they weren't natural –

Out of nowhere came one of Iceman's ice roads; behind the man, clutching at his robes, was Broo, who jumped on the ground as soon as the road stopped, joined a second later by Iceman.

The two mutants approached the rest of them.

“The Cuckoos are down,” Iceman said. The gathered X-Men cursed.

“Your most powerful telepath is _Quentin_ ,” Daken snapped, and the X-Men winced. “Where the hell is he?” Oh, for fuck's sake, was he really this stupid? Where was his refined intellect? Had he lost it during the fight? How about he used his brain? Unnatural flames, no trace of Quentin, the Cuckoos trying to handle a threat, wincing at mentioning Quentin – was it really that inept or was he capable of doing some simple math?

Daken felt his breath hitch. _No_.

Broo clenched his teeth and reached behind – he took a long, slender gun from between his wings.

From the looks of the X-men, it was painfully clear it wasn't going to shoot mere tranquillizers.

_No._

_Ah, denial._

There had to be a way – there had to. Why weren't the X-Men doing anything? They were just... standing there, grim expressions on their faces, fucking useless.

“I can't see anything with this fire,” Broo said.

“I tried to put it out,” Munroe grimaced, “Maybe Oya –”

“There's no time!”

“Okay, I'll freeze it,” Iceman raised his arms, and a surge of ice rushed towards the column of fire – but it melted. “Oooooor not.”

“It's _psychic_ ,” spat Kaplan, “Even my spells can't do anything –”

 _No, no, no, are you listening to yourselves?_ Daken looked around, stunned. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Even Laura had crossed her arms, she wasn't saying anything – _This is not what you do! You are the fucking X-Men, you fight to the point of_ stupidity _, you fight even if they're killing you, that's what you are, you are ridiculous idiots that don't ever know when to stop_ –

“All right.” Broo sighed. “He's most likely at the centre –” he walked backwards, head cocking, probably calculating the circumference and then the fucking radius. _No. No, fucking no, goddammit. I won't let you._ Broo raised his arm –

The gun fell from Broo's hand, hit by one of Daken's knives. If he moved quickly, he should manage to kick the fucking gun away from –

Daken was seized from behind and lifted, metallic arms closing around him, and he kicked to no effect, a scream of frustration and rage coming out of his lips.

The X-Men were staring at him.

“What,” Broo said, “are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing!” Daken spat, “Is that Quentin in there?”

“Yes.”

“What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?”

Broo hesitated. He was staring at him wide-eyed. He ought to be shocked at _himself_ , the damn alien – “I promised Quentin that if he ever lost control over the Phoenix, I would have stopped him.”

“Stop him?” Daken snarled, “You mean _kill_ him!”

“Yes,” Broo sighed.

“You fucking hypocrite – oh, you and your nice words. _We don't kill_ , you said. Yes, I see that.”

Broo's wings jolted. “We do what has to be done.”

Daken laughed. It had been years that such a bitter, venomous sound hadn't come out of his mouth, and he didn't like it. He was fuming, he would even bite rabidly Colossus' arm if it could free him, but the Russian was in metallic form. “At _last_ , off your high horse.”

“Yes.” Broo bent down, took the gun. Daken couldn't let him do it, couldn't let him kill Quentin –

“He's your _friend!_ Don't you care?”

Broo snarled, wings stretching to full width, mouth showing his nightmarish teeth – a creature from outer space, a predator ready to tear Daken apart. “Of course I do! You! Who the hell do you think _you_ are?”

Daken opened his mouth – he closed it. No one. The truth, the ridiculous truth, was that he was _no one_. At least to Quentin. These were Quentin's friends gathered around here, the only ones who could have a say in this, the only ones who could express disagreement in what was about to be done, and dammit, none of them was doing it – all of them thought nothing could be done.

Daken was no one, but he sure as hell could make these fools see what was right in front of their eyes.

“He hasn't lost control,” Daken said quietly, “If he had, we'd be dead already.”

Broo closed his wings behind him. “He's too close, though.”

“He only needs to focus!”

“ _What_ , exactly, do you think the Cuckoos were trying to do?” spat Kaplan.

Lee appeared out of nowhere and landed beside them, Okonkwo's arms wrapped around the vampire's waist. There was a deep gash on the vampire's face, and blood covered her left eye, but she appeared unconcerned by it. The younger woman released her grip on Lee and stepped up. She, at least, would certainly try to reason with the others –

Okonkwo raised the hand with which she controlled ice and tried the same trick Iceman had, but it bore the same ridiculous results: it was fucking pointless. She grimaced, her hand falling to her side, and shut her eyes. It couldn't be, it couldn't be that even _she_ was giving up –

Lee looked around, gaze stopping on Daken, and narrowed her sane eye. “What's happening here? Broo? What are you waiting for?”

“Ah – resolve, perhaps.” Gritting his teeth, the alien raised his arm again to point the gun at the column of fire. There had to be something that could be done, there had to be! Daken struggled, tried to free himself from Colossus' grip, but the man held him tighter. Maybe, even if the man was in metallic form, if Daken overwhelmed him with pheromones, the man would release him –

Daken stiffened. _How_ stupid _am I?_

“His _physiology!_ ” Daken cried, “Is it still human when he's like this?”

Broo's arm stopped its motion, and the alien turned his head to look at him, eyes wide. “Yes,” he exhaled, arm lowering, “Oh, but – they're close-ranged, aren't they?”

“Just give me some time,” Daken panted desperately, and sensed Laura stiffen – Laura, who hadn't said a word yet, but she surely understood what idiocy he was thinking of doing –

Lee's gaze run between him and Broo. “Be clearer about it or shoot him _now_. We need to get this dealt with before the press arrives. What are you thinking?”

“His pheromones,” Broo said, “But –”

“I _can_ calm him down,” Daken interrupted him, looking straight at Lee, “Let me try.”

“Daken,” Broo said softly. “Are you sure that's what _you_ want to do?” He put way too much emphasis on the word. He knew.

The Brood _knew_.

Daken swallowed the humiliation down and answered. “Yes.”

“I mean –”

“I know what you mean. Yes.” There was no time to delve into what the Brood thought he knew, but Daken could guess what Quentin had told him. It was sweet, in a way, that Broo was trying to make sure of how aware Daken was of the clusterfuck he was about to throw himself into – how self-aware, rather.

“You need to get close enough to do that, and he'll _kill_ you,” Kaplan scoffed.

“He won't harm me,” came out of his mouth, and he _knew_ it was the truth – trying to explain would have been ridiculous, and long, and would have made him sound deranged. Okonkwo let out a bark of dry, incredulous laughter but Broo was just staring at Daken, head cocked slightly. The Brood wasn't as confident as him about this. But Daken wasn't going to let them kill Quentin without at least trying to stop him in some other way first. Maybe he'd die in the process, and so what? He knew he was going to die soon – at least he would die doing something useful, stopping this world from being burned down, saving his children.

At least he wouldn't have to _see_ Quentin _die_.

Broo opened his mouth and Daken cut him off. “Let me _try,_ ” he begged Lee.

Lee bit her lower lip, shook her head – “I must be _crazy_. All right. You have five minutes. Let's hope we survive that long.”

“You should have a bit more faith in Quentin, Lee.”

They were all staring at him as if he was mad, and honest to god, maybe he really was. Lee nodded briskly, and Colossus released him. Daken fell on his feet and turned to look at the flames. They were too high, probably too thick too.

He clicked his tongue. “You won't _ever_ have another chance to throw me, tovarich.”

Colossus laughed briefly – there was something strident in the sound, that shook incredulous as Okonkwo's laughter had. “I'll make it worth it.”

And then he caught Daken, manhandled him, threw him – and Daken had been right: this was a truly self-destructive move, an insanity only Logan could have subjected himself to with no worry whatsoever... and damn, he was mad, he had gone mad – but the flames were too wild to be simply walked through without sporting fourth-degree burns, and the speed should allow him to survive the experience – unless Quentin killed him right after, but it was too late for such doubts now –

Daken passed the scorching hot flames without a sound – oh, he'd experienced worse, this was nothing – and landed on the ground, rolled on his back and was back to his feet. He hadn't caught fire – apparently the flames being psychic ruled that off. As he'd thought, the flames didn't cover the entire area, but were just a circle. And in the centre of the desolate, burned out area, knelt Quentin.

He knelt, deeply bent down, arms wrapped around himself – a posture that showed a vulnerability that made Daken's chest ache. And yet, Quentin was the most powerful and _dangerous_ being on the planet right now.

Daken began releasing a steady flow of soothing pheromones and walked slowly towards Quentin. The man didn't move, nor did he acknowledge him.

“Quentin? Are you all right?” Daken reached Quentin, continued pushing the soothing pheromones, and Quentin rose to a kneel, raised his head to look at Daken –

Daken's breath caught in his throat: Quentin's eyes pinned him to the spot. They were black – no difference between iris and sclera, just a smooth black surface. _Master_ , the hysterical thought surfaced from the depths of Daken's mind, and oh, this was coming home, relief washed over him – but it would be unjust to Quentin.

“Quentin,” Daken managed to say instead, and he somehow kept his voice steady.

“You,” Quentin said.

“Yes. Quentin, are you all right?” Daken kept releasing pheromones.

“You,” Quentin was just staring at him, unblinking, “You provoke pain.”

“I do. Yes.” _I'm sorry. Oh, god, I'm so sorry_ –

“He thinks he wronged you,” Quentin said – and speaking in third person _wasn't_ a good sign. Not when one was the host of a cosmic power.

“You're wrong,” Daken spoke to Quentin. The man must be in there, somewhere, or else everything would have burned down already. “Quentin, you're wrong. _I_ wronged you.”

“Did you? He doesn't seem to think that.” Quentin – no, it wasn't Quentin; _the Phoenix_ cocked Quentin's head in a bird-like manner, piercing Daken with his gaze.

“I'm not talking about this with _you_.” Daken dropped to his knees in front of Quentin, pushed the pheromones. “We'll talk about it, Quentin, I promise. Just please, come back.”

The Phoenix kept staring at him, unblinking, unmoving, until it said calmly: “Are you trying to control me?”

Daken froze as the air around them was – there was no other way to describe it – _torn apart_ as fabric being unthreaded. Tiny luminous specks of light were all around them, the flames were roaring in the background... _I'm playing with fire_ , Daken thought hysterically, and of course, he'd always done so; but this time it wasn't a fucking _metaphor_. “Yes.”

“Little human. The Phoenix cannot be controlled.” It raised Quentin's hands, cupped Daken's face. “I can modify the matter as I please. This brain can think ten million thoughts per second. Did you really think I wouldn't notice and stop a few particles roaming the air?” Quentin's fingers were carving exquisite burnings on Daken's cheeks.

“I admit – I didn't think this through,” Daken exhaled, tried to school his breathing. The Phoenix cocked Quentin's head in the other direction with horrible speed – Quentin's vertebrae snapped – and laughed softly.

“I ought to keep you. The host would be sad if you died – you hurt him, but he would be so sad. Do humans always act like this?”

“We're stupid,” Daken fought to keep his mind clear, the delicate pain blossoming on his cheeks, “So stupid.”

“Mh-mh.” The Phoenix cocked quickly Quentin's head in the other direction, Quentin's fingers still abusing Daken's cheeks. It was heavenly, sublime. Daken moaned, his breath accelerating. “Why can't I access your mind?” the Phoenix asked sharply, and Daken snapped back to reality. Focus. His mind was derailling with pleasure, but he had to _focus_. “I can slither under your skin, touch your muscles, make your nerves sing and your bones tremble. I can sense your blood move through your body and hear your cells breathe – I can read everything in you. Why can't I read your thoughts?”

 _Quentin. I knew it. You_ do _control yourself around me. You don't_ ever _try to access my thoughts_. Had he, he'd have spared himself so much pain. So much pain.

Quentin was fighting back.

Daken grabbed the front of Quentin's costume. “He's stopping you from doing it. That's good, Quentin. That's _very good_. Focus.”

“He can't hear you.”

“Oh, _yes_ , he can.” Daken fought against the waves of pleasure rippling against his very being. “He will stop you. _Focus_ , Quentin.”

The Phoenix's hold on his face tightened. “Why are you doing this?”

 _Why are you doing this?_ Quentin's shaking voice echoed in his mind. He'd asked the same question just some days ago, in Broo's laboratory.

_Because I'm an idiot. Because I didn't know what to do. Because I was so fucking terrified I was just doing what I've been trained to do and I didn't want to hurt you and look, I did it anyway, I'm sorry –_

“Why are you doing this?” the Phoenix repeated, “You're not of order, you're of chaos. I _sense_ them on you... the weird sisters, those silly children.” – _Your heart knows –_ A whisper of a memory long forgotten, a swirl of robes, the echo of a denial/acceptance Daken didn't even remember he'd uttered – _Your heart has brought you here –_ Three-Voices-As-One, an eerie laughter, the world burning to ashes in a nightmare/dream handed to him – “They touched you. World serpent, sea dragon, harbinger of Ragnarøkkr... Why are you doing this?”

– _brought you here, now, to the crossroads –_

“You want to set this world aflame.”

– _You will set the world aflame –_

“You _want_ me to do that.” Delicate, excquisite, Quentin's fingertips trailed over Daken's cheeks, flames marked him. It was difficult to focus – _And you have chosen your fate –_ It was excruciating, Quentin's head crowned with a halo of flames, eyes piercing Daken's very soul – _Allowing all other possibilities to fade –_ “You're of chaos – your essence sings when I touch you. You are _mine_.”

_Yours. Yes. Always and forever. Yours, yours, yours. Master, master, master –_

_No._ Daken bit hard his tongue. He didn't want that – not anymore. He'd stopped wanting that. He was his own.

– _we are each our own architects –_

He wasn't _on_ his own anymore. He had his children. His children, who would have died if the Phoenix won.

– _to the crossroads –_

“Quen-”

– _aflame –_

“Not here. The host isn't here.” The Phoenix made Daken's mind scream with pleasure, his body spasm. An orgasm the likes of which he'd never experienced shook him to his very core. “But he shall be. I shall keep you for him. Don't you want to watch the world burn?”

_Focus, dammit. I know what – can – I –_

_Burn_ , yes – his nerves were on fire – he'd wanted to watch the world burn, he'd dreamed of it... but not now, not _now_ , not now that his children were _on_ it. He couldn't let it do it. It had to be _stopped_. He had to –

No – he _couldn't_. He –

_Don't make me choose between my children and Quentin, because I –_

_I want them both._

God helped him, he wanted both.

_I have – all – pieces. I know what –_

_I'll die_ , he screamed, _try to reason with it, bargain for your children's life, this is suicide_ , but he _couldn't_ either. This would work, this could work, this had to work.

He had to. He had to.

“You're – right,” his voice shook... his throat was raw. Had he been screaming? With pleasure, perhaps. “I would gladly watch the world burn with you.” Daken let go of Quentin's costume, and lowered his fists to place them against Quentin's chest. He inhaled. “But Quentin would never forgive himself.”

He unsheathed his claws.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_
> 
> white
> 
> all
> 
> was
> 
> white


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A billion thanks to **TheBrilliantDarkness** , my precious beta-reader! You are a gift ^-^
> 
> [edit: This is the last chapter that benefited from her beta work. Sadly, she could not go on.]

13.

“And it's over, and I'm going under,  
But I'm not giving up, I'm just giving in.  
I'm slipping underneath, so cold and so sweet.  
In the arms of the ocean, so sweet and so cold,  
And all this devotion I never knew at all.  
In the crushes of heaven, for a sinner released,  
and the arms of the ocean delivered me.”

Florence + the Machine – _Never let me go_

 

 

Daken unsheathed his claws.

Or, rather, he _tried_ to.

The Phoenix laughed, the sound pricking needle-like in Daken’s brain.

“Little human,” it mocked. “You try to kill _me_? You _can’t_.”

It crawled inside Daken, fingers pulling at and unravelling his brain, nails raking against the inside of his skull – but it wasn’t possible. It was all in his head, perception, it was just – white. All was white, and pulsing –

“-lly thought you could stop me with ridiculous weapons that move at the command of your _synapses_? I am _inside_ you. Fare thee –”

 

white

all

was

white

 

and pulsing.

Daken regained consciousness, fell against Quentin’s chest, his mouth frothing, his brain screaming, and he smiled. It was more of a grimace, in truth, a tight rictus grin, but this was good, oh, this was _good_ –

He looked up. Quentin’s fingers were still burning his cheeks, and the Phoenix was staring. It was difficult to discern emotions when someone's eyes were entirely black, but Daken... well, he had more experience than most. He’d seen _surprise_ in void black eyes once before, ones set in the face of a madman, and it had been the sweetest thing he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“Little bird –” Daken coughed up blood, and raised a hand to cup Quentin’s face – it was unbearably hot to the touch. “You try to kill _me?_ You _can't_.”

It screeched. Quentin's vocal chords weren’t naturally capable of producing such a noise, yet it screeched all the same. It was all in his brain again, fucking with perceptions, but oh, it couldn’t –

 

white

all

was

white

 

and pulsing.

Daken regained consciousness. His hand was pressed against Quentin’s cheek, and... was it cooler? It felt cooler. He grinned up at the Phoenix.

“That’s all you can do? Would you like to try again? I’ve got all night. Do _you_?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, then reached up to cup Quentin’s other cheek. Yes – it was definitely cooler. “We can play if you want. But you’ll inevitably lose.” He laughed. The realisation had made him reckless. “How much time do you have? Come, tell me: would you like to try again?” It tried to snap Quentin’s head away, but Daken’s grip was firm. “I’ve had worse – oh, much, _much_ worse – and you can’t touch me now. Not _really_. How much time do you have _before he comes back_?”

It screeched again, dug Quentin’s fingers hard into Daken's cheeks, but they were ridiculously _warm_ now.

“Ten million thoughts – per second,” it stuttered.

“Mh, you _do_ keep up.” Daken smiled.

“You _gave_ me the time to realise. You knew I would sense your synapses giving the order. You knew I would stop it... and you gambled I would retaliate.”

“Indeed.” _And you tried to_ convince _me. You couldn't touch me already._

“You trusted – the host – to stop me?”

“I _trust_ Quentin not to hurt me.” Ridiculous words – vulnerable ones – prompted by processes carved into his brain by a madman. But it didn’t matter, because it was true, it was _true_ – and Quentin’s eyes flashed for a moment, colour trying to overtake the blackness before being swallowed by it again. “Yes. _Quentin_. There you are. Focus.”

“You can't –”

“ _Quiet_ , little bird.” Daken tightened his grip and pressed in close enough that his breath mingled with Quentin’s. “Quentin. Focus. I know you can. You are iron-willed. You tamed, _domesticated_ this thing when you were a teenager. You can do this.”

“This is a _symbiosis_ ,” the Phoenix said, “We coexist. This is our nature. Do you understand? We shall do this eventually, it cannot be helped. Everything dies and comes back eventually. We shall do this, we shall burn –”

“Yes,” Daken said, his voice a whisper. “I do understand. But not today.” He leant in and silenced the Phoenix with a kiss. Quentin’s lips scorched his own; Quentin was on fire, Quentin was burning him, _burn me alive, master_ , but he wouldn’t do it – he would never harm Daken, Daken _trusted_ him not to, and he kissed back – _yes, focus on this, on me, on this –_ kissed back, lips scorching Daken’s, fingers rigid, but cooler, cooler... cooler. He broke the kiss. Daken gasped for it, aching at the loss of contact – but now it was Quentin that knelt before him. Just _Quentin_. Those big eyes blinked in the midst of his confusion, and then they rolled back in his head and he slumped, his hands falling from Daken’s face as his arms went limp at his sides.

Daken’s heart almost stopped in that very moment – but Quentin was breathing, and... his heartbeat was steady. Daken gently moved his own hands to the back of Quentin’s neck, found himself drawing the other man in to cradle his head against his chest. He tried to breathe, to hold air in his lungs – but every breath was cut short by a sharp, immediate exhalation, and he fell into a maddening series of quick, desperate gasps over which he had no control – and he couldn’t fucking see anything, his eyes clouded suddenly as if by a veil. He could only cling to Quentin like a lifeline and let Quentin’s heartbeat fill his ears, Quentin, who was warm in his arms and breathing, breathing quietly, _breathing_ –

“ _Quentin!_ ” A scream from somewhere off to the side of them - and Daken snarled and turned in the direction of the noise. He'd shred the attacker to pieces even as he held onto Quentin; he slashed, claws unsheathing to tear at the aggressor – but he blinked, and it was Okonkwo. Just damn Okonkwo, pallid and bloodied from all that had happened. She came to a halt a few feet away, her wide eyes fixed upon the two men. “Is – is he –?”

“Fine. He's alive.”

 _Alive. He's alive, he's – he's alive, we're alive, I'm alive, he's alive – he – he –_ Daken realised he was rocking he and Quentin back and forth, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t _stop_. He began to sob, and that was it; he was a ridiculous sobbing mess, but who the hell cared? Quentin was alive, and the world was no longer aflame. His children were safe, and Quentin was _alive_. Okonkwo knelt down and reached out to touch Quentin – but Daken snarled protectively and moved away with Quentin in tow. She hadn’t believed in Quentin. _None_ of them had believed in Quentin –

“Daken,” someone else said on his other side. Broo. “I need you to let him go. Please.”

He could only shake his head. _No. I'm never,_ never –

“Daken, I won't harm him.”

Daken snorted, the mucus almost choking him. Oh, this was fucking priceless, this was amazing.

“Oh dear. Oh,” Broo muttered. “Laura?” His voice grew louder as if he were calling out. “I think I need a hand here.”

Truly, it was beginning to get just a little too crowded. Daken could smell others approaching, and X-Men moving around. He felt the presence of Laura, too, even before she knelt beside him and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Daken. Let him go now. We need to take him back to the school before the press arrive.”

“He did nothing.” How true was that?

“Yes, but... other things happened. Please. Let Broo –”

“He wanted to _kill_ him!” Daken snarled, turning sharply to look at the alien. Broo didn’t wince, nor react in any other visible way. He simple stared Daken down.

“It’s our failsafe,” he said softly. “Quentin knows that if he ever... ‘loses’ it, I will stop him. We have agreed on that.” Such a thing was so typically Quentin that it was painful. Of _course_ he’d have a euthanasia pact with his best friend. “I’m grateful that it didn’t come to that. Now, please – let him go.”

“I'm not leaving him.” Daken knew he was being an irrational fool. The assembled idiots had abandoned Quentin in his time of need, but they were trying to pick up the pieces. This was damage control. Blaire had died, and countless mutants had met the same fate – and then the Phoenix had shown up. If the press saw Quentin now, what would happen? And Laura had mentioned _other_ events...

Broo wouldn't harm Quentin – would he?

Daken carefully relinquished his grip on Quentin, and passed him carefully into Okonkwo’s waiting arms. Broo approached and knelt beside Quentin, one of his clawed hands hovering over the man’s face. Quentin had lost his glasses somewhere. Maybe they’d been melted by all the heat he’d been exuding. His uncounscious face looked unspeakably vulnerable.

Broo nodded at Okonkwo, and she teleported abruptly with Quentin in tow. Daken cried out and tried to move, but he was struck with a strange and sudden light-headedness, and collapsed against Laura. She put her arms around him. “Where –”

“He’s at the school,” Broo explained. “I’m going to run a check-up on him upon our return.” He turned to face Daken and his wings jolted. “Oh, _Christ_ , your face.” He moved closer. “Did – did Quentin-?”

“It was the _Phoenix_. Quentin _stopped_ it.” And it couldn’t be that bad, surely. The tears were burning the living flesh of his cheeks, but the damage would heal. The wounds were but superficial burns.

“I'm going to run a complete check-up on you too,” Broo said firmly.

“There's no need –”

“ _That’s enough!”_ Broo snapped, his voice loud and sharp in a way so uncharacteristic that a still hush fell briefly over the assembled X-Men. Daken noticed, for the first time since the flames had dissipated, the bodies littering the ground. He returned his attention quickly to Broo, whose eyes were glistening. “Don’t you dare assume I’ll just forget what you did. Don’t you _dare_. I am going to run a full check-up on you and you will shut your mouth and _let_ me.”

“Alright,” Daken mumbled stupidly. It couldn’t hurt. It would take his sluggish healing factor some time to take care of everything, after all. But he was fine. He was alive and breathing, and Quentin was alive too, he was alive, and all would be well. Daken could afford to let Broo assuage his guilt.

The alien nodded. “Good. Laura, please, take him to the school, I'll be right behind you – I need to check on the Madripoor group first.”

“Madripoor?” Daken said weakly. “Are there many wounded?”

“I don't know. I assume that they’ll have their own healers, but – I want to make sure.” He stood up.

“My children?”

“Not here, that I know of.” Broo looked around – and hissed, annoyed. “Oh, just in time. Excuse me,” he left them, and Daken felt Laura turn her head to see what the Brood had seen. She made a disgusted sound.

The press had probably reached them.

Daken wondered if paramedics and other heroes would eventually join them too, or whether they were already roaming about the place. Not that they would do much good at the point they’d reached. The damage was long done, and only corpses remained.

Laura rummaged through her pockets, trying to locate her cellphone and teleport them away as quickly as possible, and Daken spent the time listening in on the press as they tried – and failed – to approach Broo. They moved on to harass Munroe, who told them quietly – far too quietly, and Daken admired her nerves of steel – that they were trying to work.

But the press were trying to do their job too, and, before Laura succeeded in getting them away, there was a hushed whisper of: “Is that Akki?” and she and Daken found themselves hemmed in by obnoxious journalists, dazzled by the bursts of light from photographers’ flash guns.

Laura snarled. “We're _leaving_ ,” she growled, an arm curled protectively around Daken, and he put on his best vulnerable mask and blinked blearily up at the cameras.

“Can we just ask a few questions about Madripoor?” Ah. There was no getting away from that. He was Madripoor’s liason, after all.

“There are too many of you,” Daken said weakly. It wasn’t entirely an act; the crowd was large – at least a dozen strong – and he felt so tired, wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and call his children to reassure himself of their safety, and ensure that Quentin hadn’t been locked away in some confinement cell. But this... this was damage control too. “Just one? Please?” he begged, scanning the gaggle of journalists and selecting a mutant journalist – a youth with green skin.

“Just a few questions,” the man assured Daken as the rest of the parasites dispersed. The mutant’s cameraman partner pointed his lens at Daken, grimacing slightly. _Oh,_ Daken thought, _I must look quite a mess._ The journalist knelt beside him. “Thank you. I see that you’re wounded.”

“This? It's nothing.” Daken blinked a few times. “I only did my job. Many others are, too.”

“Yes. We’ve spoken to a few of them. Were you in charge of organising the Madripoor mutants?” They clearly hadn’t talked with whoever Maiko and Eike had sent, or else they’d be asking more intelligent questions.

“No. I only notified Madripoor –” As far as Daken was aware, no one was supposed to know about Blaire having invited his children in before the address. “It all happened very quickly, as I’m sure you must imagine. I worked alongside Talon here.” He nodded his head feebly in Laura’s direction. “We didn’t know what was happening outside of our little bubble on the battlefield, I’m afraid.”

“And what happened here? Did you see Jean Grey?”

Jean Grey? What the hell had happened? Was it linked to Quentin’s loss of control over the Phoenix? The first Jean Grey – the one who had belonged in this timeline – had been a host, after all. What ever had happened, the journalist didn’t appear to know of a link between it and Quentin – but the damage that had been inflicted upon Daken’s face betrayed the fact that he’d been present.

“I didn’t see her, no. When Talon and the rest of us arrived, everything was in flames. We were looking for the wounded –” He looked around. There were bodies. Scorched corpses, people who’d burned to death. Had it been Quentin? Or Jean Grey? The journalist seemed to think it was Grey’s fault, if his grimace was anything to go by - and Daken sure as hell wasn’t going to bring Quentin up.

“And did you see Phoenix? Is he alive?” the journalist asked. Daken blinked. Evidently something _had_ happened between Grey and Quentin – but he didn’t know _what_ , dammit. How could he answer without endangering Quentin?

Laura answered in his stead. “Phoenix is being checked upon. We are still trying to understand what happened –”

“What happened, Talon,” the journalist said, voice sharp and crisp. “Is that Jean Grey went crazy. The world wants to know how Phoenix is faring after facing her.” God. Was it really going to be this easy? Even with all the uncertainty over what exactly had happened, had nobody noticed that they’d risked extermination at Quentin’s hands?

No, not at Quentin’s hands – rather, at the claws of the Phoenix.

“We will be hosting a press conference,” Laura said, with abruptness to match the journalist’s tone. “But now is not the time. Not with the recently deceased scattered around us.”

The journalist paled. It was likely that he’d be fired; he was terribly incompetent.

“Of course,” he said, fumbling over his words. “Akki – will Madripoor take a stand on this? Will Madripoor be cooperating with the X-Men to figure out exactly what happened?”

“I can’t see why we wouldn’t –” Daken broke off to cough. It was fortunate that he’d chosen such an inexperienced idiot as his interviewer. The boy’s career would plummet after this hackneyed attempt at journalism, and Daken felt just a tiny bit bad for it – but, had he picked a sharper member of the press, Daken would have been subjected to a much tougher line of questioning, and discrepancies would inevitably have cropped up.

This, instead, was merely an exercise in tedium, painting Daken exactly as he wished to be – a man being harassed by a fool.

“I’m sorry,” Daken said, voice faint and strained. He made as if to move, and winced at the feigned effort. “I really must get medical attention...”

“Of course,” the journalist nodded, getting quickly to his feet. “Thank you for your time.” His expression was one of a man who’d realised just how badly he’d done at getting information out of a valuable source. He looked about stupidly, trying to scope out his next interviewee – but most of the X-Men had moved along.

Laura finally got the opportunity to teleport them away, and Daken put the fool out of his mind. The med bay of the school was full. The Cuckoos lay in three beds. The Phoenix must have done a number on them, but they appeared to be breathing, at least. Other beds were occupied by Katherine Pryde, Shark-Woman – Eye-Man sat beside her – and Keller, Rogue, Hisako... so many. It was a big damn mess.

Laura found Daken a bed and waited there with him. She laid a hand over his, and uttered not a word, her lips drawn into a thin line. She was pale. He’d caused his blessed sister so much worry; she’d told him as soon as she’d seen him leaving the White House that he should stay out of the fight – but there’d been no time for such discussions. The X-Men had been in need of every available soldier, and she’d known it as well as him. Still, it hadn’t stopped her from sticking with him, working in tandem with him so that she could keep an eye on him.

But Daken had still succeeded in almost getting himself killed, trying single-handedly to stop the Phoenix. She didn’t know why he’d done it, nor why he’d thought his efforts to stop the Phoenix would work. Really, she thought he was mad.

But, in truth, Daken was not sure either. He’d acted on instinct – and was glad that he had. He couldn’t have borne to stand on the sidelines and watch as Quentin was killed. He couldn’t have borne to _see_ Quentin die. He lay and wondered where Quentin was, where the hell Okonkwo had put him. He wasn’t in the med bay – maybe she’d taken him to Broo’s lab. Would they try to restrain him? Lock him away? If they dared do something like that, Daken wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

But he had to try to trust Broo in this. They would ensure that Quentin clawed back his control, surely.

He tried to occupy his mind with other things – with Eike, with Maiko. Laura passed him her phone, and he got through to his children successfully. Eike was relieved to hear his voice; he detailed how they’d seen him on TV, and asked Daken if he was healing, assured him that Madripoor’s shields were still up. Thankfully, he and Maiko had heeded Daken’s advice. They would need to adjust their plans in the wake of all that had happened, and perhaps strike a new deal with the X-Men. There was so much to think about, so much to worry about as he waited for Broo to arrive and check on him. Worrying about Quentin was pointless at the stage they were at, sure – and yet, Daken’s mind always looped back to him.

He would heal first, and then – then it was time to face up to everything. He’d realised as he knelt there, in that circle of flames, that he couldn’t bear the mere thought of losing Quentin. Everything had gotten so out of control, and he’d hurt Quentin so much in the process. _You provoke pain_ , the Phoenix had hissed, and... he did. He didn’t care about the consequences, hadn’t cared about the consequences; he’d only done what he thought would be best for both of them, but he’d never troubled to ask for Quentin’s thoughts on the matter. He’d been a damn fool, as always, but... maybe he could balance everything out. Maybe he would be able to solve things.

He only hoped he wouldn't hurt Quentin in the process.

 

* * *

 

Quentin awoke and immediately questioned why it was that he was still alive.

More importantly, he found himself wondering why he hadn’t been confined. He’d lost control, hadn’t he? He remembered that quite well. He’d lost control – regained it eventually, yes, but what damage had he done? Had he... killed anyone?

Why wasn’t he even _restrained_? He just lay in a bed, an IV feeding into his arm. He looked around and deduced that he was in Broo’s lab.

And Broo appeared out of nowhere, likely alerted to Quentin’s return to consciousness by some device Quentin couldn’t see.

“Quentin!” Broo’s wings fluttered wildly as he stood beside Quentin’s bed, staring down at him – and Quentin stared back, blinking dazedly. “My god, Quentin – you scared me!”

“I bet.” Quentin studied his friend. Broo had seen better days. He sure as hell looked as if he hadn’t slept in a good while. Quentin privately wondered how long he’d been out. Had they kept him sedated? “I bet I scared all of you.” He remember the flames, and the screaming. He remembered the sick feeling of helplessness as he’d realised he wasn’t going to succeed in keeping the Phoenix under control.

Why was he still alive?

Broo laughed softly. “You certaintly did. It was all very inconsiderate of you, Quentin.”

How could he joke like that? As if all that had happened had been nothing?

“Yeah. I’m terrible like that.” Quentin shivered. “Broo... It wasn’t a dream, was it? Alison –” Maybe it had been. Maybe it’d all just been a terrible nightmare.

Broo sombred immediately. “Yes,” he said, closing his wings behind his back. “Many... many are dead.”

“How many?”

“We're still _counting_ , Quentin. Thousands.”

Thousands. There had been so many people gathered in front of the White House –

“And... what of our own-” His eyes widened suddenly. “Jean! Oh my God, Broo, is she –”

“AWOL.” Broo took a seat beside the bed. “Quentin, I... I don’t know if you remember, but Jean attacked you –”

“No,” Quentin said forcefully. “She didn’t. Her powers were out of control. I think she tried to absord my psychic waves and ended up sucking the Phoenix Force out of me – just a part – but... she couldn’t control it –”

“Yes, Quentin, I saw that. We _all_ saw that.” Broo shut his eyes. “One of the humans she was threatening filmed everything. It was _live_. And then when it all went down –” he put a hand over his mouth.

“When it all went down? Broo, what are you talking about? I _stopped_ her!”

“I – I don't doubt you did, Quentin. But _that_ , nobody saw, because the cell phone that was filming melted.”

“Melted?” Quentin repeated, chilled to the bone. “ _Melted?_ ”

Broo winced. “Yes. Melted. There was a big fire, Quentin, and – and everyone that was around you died.”

 _No. Oh, God, no_. Quentin sat up, the covers sliding down to his lap. He was naked; they must have undressed him to check on everything. “Why am I not in a containment cell?”

“Because,” Broo sighed, his wings shivering softly, “As far as we could tell, it was Jean's doing.”

“Because she couldn't control it.” Quentin grimaced. He recalled the flames, the _screams_ as he tried to take a hold of the Phoenix Force again.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure it was her and not me?”

“We studied that video countless times, Quentin – the _press_ did. _The whole world_ did. She attacked you, you were down, she sucked your powers out of you. The video shows you trying to stop her, shows the energy coming from her.” Broo sighed. “And then there was the fire, but the last tendrils of power can be seen coming from her, not you.”

“So nothing’s certain. Maybe I did it.” Quentin crossed his arms tight, hugging himself as shivers ran down his spine. “Look – it’s the Cyclops debate all over again. The Phoenix killed Xavier, not him. Now the Phoenix is in me, so if it killed the people around us, I should pay for it. Not Jean.”

“A powerful argument – but one which excludes you from being held accountable for the Phoenix’s actions as well.” Broo crossed his arms too. “Look, Quentin: as far as we know, it wasn’t you. The Cuckoos were watching closely, and they felt it when Jean tore part of the Phoenix from you.”

“The Cuckoos.” Quentin shivered. He remembered them and the buzz in his ears as he tried to contain the Phoenix. “Are they okay? The Phoenix shut them down like they were _nothing_.”

“They'll be fine,” Broo said off-handedly, in a quiet voice. “They're alive.”

“That's not really reassuring.”

“ _They’ll be fine_. You did nothing to them, Quentin. This is all on the Phoenix. We all know that.” Broo’s wings twitched. “I’m... I’m ashamed to say we almost resorted to killing you, Quentin. We – feared that you might be losing control –” Broo hung his head.

“Hey.” Quentin leant closer to his friend and put a hand on his arm. Now he could see what was eating Broo: the alien was ashamed, in spite of the fact that they’d agreed on the action plan that had nearly been put into place. He wasn’t forgiving himself for considering doing what needed to be done. “It’s alright. We’ve talked about this, remember? We said that, if it came to it, you would stop me. What do you think keeps me going? I know that if I posed a serious threat, you’d be there to put an end to me.” Quentin smiled.

Broo sniffed hard, his shoulders shaking, wings buzzing chaotically. Shit, was he crying?

“No,” he said. “I didn’t trust you, Quentin, when I should have. You regained control. I might have killed you over nothing –”

“But you didn’t, did you? I’m fine now.” Quentin grimaced. “Though, I have to ask: why didn’t you? Kill me, that is.”

Broo looked up; his eyes were filled with tears. “What?”

“Why didn’t you shoot me? Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy to be alive – but... you said you thought I was about to pull a Broccoli on the entire planet.”

Broo looked at him, sniffing loudly until his tears stopped, red eyes glistening. He cocked his head. “Don't you remember how you regained control?”

Uh. Quentin grimaced, that deep voice echoing in his ears. _Quentin. Focus. I know you can. You are iron-willed._

“I... I think I was hallucinating. Nothing I remember makes sense.” He’d seen Evan. Evan had told him to live, told him he could stop the Phoenix and that nothing had been Quentin’s fault. He had told him to live, and then – his subconscious had tried to snap him out of it, and shown him _Daken_. When consumed by the desire to _live_ , his mind had conjured Daken immediately. Daken, coming apart beneath his fingers, Daken telling him to focus, Daken hurting because of him, yet saying _I trust Quentin not to hurt me._ Daken begging him to come back. His mind had conjured Daken, and it had worked. He’d come back. But it had been a pitiful lie, one which did nothing but show how deeply messed up Quentin was –

Broo coughed into his hand. It looked as if he were hiding a smile behind his clawed fingers, but why –

“If one of those hallucinations is Daken kissing you, Quentin, I assure you that it happened.”

“What?” Quentin could only stare at his friend and blink rapidly as the memory of those lips touching his returned with full force. The feeling of his face being cupped by Daken’s strong hands, his slender fingers brushing over Quentin’s cheeks – Daken had been there. He’d been there, and said those things, and – _oh god, I hurt him. I_ hurt _him_. Again.

“Yes.” Broo smiled. “And that's why I didn't shoot you, Quentin. He _stopped_ me. He was quite disappointed in us and I must say he was right. He was – truly worried about you. He – offered to try and stop you. Jubilation let him.”

“ _What?_ ” He couldn’t think. He couldn’t _think_ , could only see Daken before him, his head surronded by the Phoenix’s flames like a halo, hurting and screaming and _facing the Phoenix for him_. Risking _his own life_ for him. The Phoenix had realised what he was doing immediately, but Daken hadn’t even flinched. He had stood in front of it and _challenged_ it, and tried to _kill_ it, bluffing with his own life. _I trust Quentin not to hurt me._ Daken had trusted Quentin to stop the Phoenix before it killed him – and, in doing so, regain control over his own body. He’d been – “Insane,” Quentin exhaled. “That fucking lunatic! He could have _died!_ ” Why had he done it? Was it Quentin’s fault? Had Daken been _compelled_ to –

“Ah, no! I know that look!” Broo snapped. “For fuck’s _sake_ , Quentin!” Broo cursing was so unusual that Quentin jumped, his head snapping up so he could look at his friend in astonishment. “Stop torturing yourself over this and _talk_ to him!”

“But –” _he risked his life for me. Why else would he do it?_

“You’re infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. The both of you!” Broo snarled, getting to his feet. “Agonising over something you _think_ happened is pointless.” He pointed accusingly at Quentin, and his eyes glistened. “You said you’d face Daken after the elections – and now the elections have passed.” He winced slightly. “You will put an end to this. This ridiculous drama has dragged on long enough. I don’t want you to go on in a haze of distraction because you think you’re a monster for conditioning Daken. We have real monsters to track down – the monsters who did this, the monsters who killed Alison, and countless others with her! We need you serene, and I want you to regain some peace of mind. I want you focused for all that needs to be done. We need you to get better, Quentin, do you hear me? We can’t bear seeing you like this.”

Quentin stared slack-jawed at his friend. Broo wasn’t prone to such outbursts – just how long had he been sitting on that one? “But what if I _am_ a monster, Broo?” Quentin asked quietly. He understood what Broo was trying to tell him – he really did. Broo had always said that the whole situation was just a matter of Quentin's own perceptions. If he would only face Daken, then the matter would resolve. He'd tried to push him to do so, these past few days.

Broo sighed. “Then we'll cross that bridge, Quentin. But this – what you've been doing – is unhealthy. And stupid. And if it's true, we'll _resolve_ it. But stop tormenting yourself _over_ it, Quentin. Be the adult you are. Talk with Daken.”

Quentin lowered his gaze to the covers. “I'm behaving like a teenager, aren't I?”

“You're not the only one,” Broo spat.

Quentin grimaced. “I _conditioned_ him, Broo. That's not just my perception. And he knows that.”

“He also knows you aren’t at fault for that, or he’d have _killed_ you for it, Quentin. He certainly has no _qualms_ about killing.”

Broo’s wording made Quentin jolt upright. “You _agree_! You agree that I did it! You just said –”

“I am _not_ in Daken’s head, and I refuse to indulge you any furher.” Broo crossed his arms, wings twitching with irritation. “He has far more insight to the processes of his own mind than _you_ or _I._ This conversation is pointless because it’s based entirely on unfounded speculation. The only one who can offer you peace of mind about all this is him. You know what you have to do – and, as it is, I have other things to do as well. You’re not my only patient, Quentin.”

Christ. He’d been so wrapped up in himself that he’d forgotten Broo wasn’t just his friend, but the primary doctor in the place too. And he had patients to attend to.

Quentin’s hands tightened against the sheets.“Yes. You're right. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Broo murmured, shaking his head and then spreading his arms. “Come here, you idiot.” He leant down and pulled Quentin into a tight hug, which Quentin returned gratefully. He shut his eyes and pressed his head against Broo’s cool exoskeleton. “I’m glad you’re alive. You big crybaby.”

“Thanks, Broo.” Quentin patted his friend on the back. “Sorry for keeping you busy.” He paused as Broo pulled away and straightened up. “So... I’m free to go? You aren’t to keep me locked up?”

“No. Didn’t I tell you as much?” Broo patted him on the head. “Find Jubilation and report what you remember. She should be in the conference room.”

“Okay.” Quentin looked down at himself. He couldn't certainly go around the school nude. “My costume?”

“In your room.” Broo paced across the lab and returned with simple long sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here. Take these.”

“Thanks.” As he got dressed, Quentin asked for his glasses as well, but they'd apparently gotten lost somewhere in D.C.

They walked the corridor together in silence and parted ways at the first floor, with Broo heading for the med bay. The school was silent, eerily so – there were no kids running around, no chaos to speak of. It was the evening, so no lessons were being held. Perhaps it was shock that was keeping the corridors quiet. Quentin didn’t want to intrude into their minds – he knew, even without a mental scan, that the school was inhabited. This was the silence of grief. The deafening silence that had permeated all when Apocalypse had killed Logan, and Gambit, and Cyclops, and all the others.

Alison was dead, and all their dreams were in pieces. Alison was dead, and thousands of mutants with her, and the X-Men would take action. They would find out who was responsible.

Quentin found Jubilation in the conference room, exactly where Broo had said she’d be – and she was... happy to see him. Relieved. She wasn’t alone, either; Shogo was with her – unharmed, it appeared – and Ororo with her daughter, and Colossus – and they, too, were fine. Quentin knew it was awfully selfish of him, but he was glad that his friends, his family, were alive. So many had died, but his friends were alive.

This happiness was short-lived, though. Death had claimed their people too. Madrox was dead; he’d been in charge of security, his duplicates scattered amongst the crowd and in the buildings surronding the White House, and all of them, even the original, had died. Then there were the wounded – many were still in the med bay. The Cuckoos lay in a _coma_ the Phoenix had likely inflicted on them when it shut them down. Broo hadn’t told him that, but Jubilation was ruthless, as was her right. She herself bore marks from the attack: a deep, long scar ran over her left eye, covering half her face.

Quentin relayed what had happened as best he could: he explained that it hadn’t been Jean’s fault, that she’d lost control – but then the others showed him the footage that one of the now deceased humans had captured. There would be no defending her; the footage had been seen by millions across the globe. Jean would have to face the consequences that came as retribution for the deaths of so many.

But she was nowhere to be found. The X-Men hadn’t had the time, nor the people to properly search for her – not with the Cuckoos and Quentin out of commission. He could try his hand at searching for her now, perhaps – but he was reluctant to do so, what with their last interaction having been the stuff of nightmares. She would show up somewhere, sooner or later, and then she would likely be captured on sight.

The United States remained without a President. Congress was scrambling to find a solution, but Jubilation said it was very likely that the Republican candidate would take office.

It was all a disgusting fucking _mess_.

It was night by the time Quentin dragged himself out of the conference room, exhausted and sickened. He was on the stairs to the second floor when he heard that voice behind him, and his heart skipped a beat.

“You’re _awake_.” It was incredulous in tone and had a slight waver to it, but there was relief, relief so heartfelt that it hurt to hear, and Quentin turned, heart hammering in his chest, to find himself facing Laura and Daken. They were in costume, soaked in sweat as if they’d both just come out of the Danger Room. Quentin’s gaze travelled to Daken’s face and there it stayed. _Oh_. He stared, horrified. _Oh, God, oh. Oh._

Daken touched his right cheek, fingers skimming over the burnt, damaged tissue.

“These?” he said softly. “They’re healing." Laura scoffed and folded her arms, and Daken rolled his eyes in response. “They _are_. I promise you, Quentin.”

He could only make an incoherent sound. How could he believe Daken’s reassurances that he was fine? Quentin had hurt him –

No, dammit. He’d wallowed in self-hatred long enough. It was time to stand up and face this. Face Daken.

“Can we talk?” he didn't know how he managed to keep his voice steady. He really didn't.

Daken nodded and turned to Laura. A silent exchange took place; Laura was clearly protective over Daken, and not pleased by the prospect of leaving him alone with Quentin. And she was right to be worried – Quentin had hurt Daken. Well, it had been the Phoenix in truth, but Quentin had been there too... and he’d done what he’d done in the past. But he realised, standing a few paces away from the siblings, looking at them in the dim light, that Daken wanted to talk as much as he did. Daken too wanted to clear up the enourmous mess between them. He remembered Daken’s reassurance: _We’ll talk about it, Quentin, I promise_ , remembered how he’d told him that he wanted to sort things even in _Tokyo. Tomorrow we will talk_ , he’d said after Quentin had made a fool of himself and said those horrible things – but then everything had gone downhill.

The siblings finally resumed their climb of the stairs, reaching and then passing Quentin. Laura turned to throw him a murderous look. Quentin stood there for a moment, until Daken stopped walking and turned slightly and said: “Aren't you coming?”

God, it was... it was really happening. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Quentin climbed the stairs as well. He watched the siblings walk in front of him, saw Laura’s hand pressed against Daken’s arm in a protective display. Did she know everything? Did she hate Quentin for what he’d done? Not only for those horrific burns on Daken’s face, but for all the rest as well – for conditioning Daken and forcing him that damn night?

Laura pulled away and left them to turn into the corridor where her room was. She gave Quentin a long, pointed glare, one that spoke of how dangerous she could be. Daken scoffed.

“I’m a grown-up, sister dear. Do tone it down a _notch_. He’s not impressed.”

 _I beg to differ. Laura is scary and she cares about you. Idiot_. The thought came to him affectionately, and Quentin bit his tongue.

Laura nodded solemnly. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Daken led them down another corridor – the one leading to his own room. Quentin knew this, because it led to Broo’s room, and Daken’s lodgings were beside Broo’s, and what the hell was Daken thinking? Quentin thought they were going to be talking in a neutral setting – maybe the cafeteria, or outside, or God, anywhere but where they were headed. The last time Quentin had been in Daken’s bedroom, he’d said the most horrible things. Why did Daken want to face such a conversation in there?

But he was being a fool. Of course Daken would want to be in an environment he could control. His room was familiar, a place he had command over – and Quentin’s mind was already short-circuiting at the prospect, like a teenager with no finesse whatsoever. In that way, Daken’s strategy was already paying off.

Even so – one’s room was sacred. Especially after the sort of violation Quentin had committed against Daken. He couldn’t help but stare mutely when they reached the room. Daken opened the door, and Quentin could only stupidly say:

“This is your room.”

“I'm aware.” Daken went inside, left the door open. Shaking himself and taking a deep breath, Quentin followed.

Daken was taking off the padded vest that protected his torso and covered the upper part of the costume. It fell to the floor – then Daken placed his knives on the dresser. After a moment of hesitation, Quentin closed the door.

Daken didn't turn towards him.

“Have a seat,” he said, his tone terribly cold and polite. His face was obscured by his position; Quentin couldn’t see it, couldn’t read his expression. Daken moved stiffly into the bathroom and left its door ajar. Quentin froze when he heard the sound of running water – but it wasn’t from the shower, he realised, just the sink. Adjusting his position just slightly, Quentin saw that Daken was washing his face.

Trying to calm the tumult hammering in his ears, Quentin looked around. The room was kept orderly; there was not a single item out of place, the dresser was closed, the covers on the bed were patted neatly down. There were books stacked on the nightstand, together with Daken’s reading glasses and his cell phone. It was the room of someone who had everything under control, and it was precisely that that made the discarded padded vest betray a certain uneasiness. The silence betrayed uneasiness. Was Daken waiting for Quentin to speak?

It was his turn to, after all. He was the one that had wronged Daken. He remembered Daken saying _Quentin, you’re wrong. I wronged you_ , as he tried to bring him back – but Daken was wrong. This conversation was long due... but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be harrowing. Quentin crossed his arms.

“Are your children okay?” he asked at last. “They were _inside_ the White House, weren’t they?”

The water stopped. “Yes. They're fine.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Quentin shuddered. The White House had practically collapsed in on itself. Quentin guessed that many who had been inside had died.

“You’re still standing.”

Quentin turned. Daken was in the doorway, drying his face with a towel, gently pressing the fabric to his cheeks. Quentin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the burns. They looked as if they’d been scorched by talons – by... by his own fingers. Quentin’s fingertips itched. The marks covered Daken’s cheeks; there was almost a mad pattern to them, markings of possession. Quentin shut his eyes.

“Your _face_.”

“I told you. They’re healing. You should have seen them soon after they’d been made.” There was an odd lightness to Daken’s voice. Was he joking? “Wait just a few days and I’ll be good as new.” A moment passed, and then Daken said: “ _Quentin_ ,” in a way that knocked the wind out of him. He opened his eyes. Daken was looking at him, still in the doorway, the towel discarded. “You didn’t do this. The Phoenix did. You _stopped_ it.”

 _I hurt you._ “You saved me,” Quentin said, because it was the truth.

Daken shook his head, the high ponytail shaking behind him. “I do believe _you_ saved yourself. And _us_.”

“No. If you hadn't –” Quentin turned his face, focused his gaze on the window. It was dark outside. “I could have killed everyone. I was losing control. And then you showed up –”

“I only helped you a little.”

“I almost _killed_ you.”

“That was the Phoenix.”

 _Jesus Christ_. Daken's voice was so calm and reasonable and level. Too level. “Broo told me that – that you stopped him, that he was about to shoot me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Quentin turned to look at Daken. He stood there, arms relaxed by his sides, just looking at him, the darkness from the bathroom painting shadows on his face.

“Because he was about to shoot you,” he said simply.

“Why did you care?”

“Because he would have killed you.”

“And what?” Quentin almost bit his tongue. What sort of sick game was he playing? Why did he have to dance around the issue? What was he trying to prove? “I was, in that moment, a threat. There had been so much death already, and then I went and lost control. Killing me was the only way to stop me. Broo knew that. We’re agreed on that. He created that gun himself – can you imagine? A gun to kill a Phoenix host.”

“Broo is a skilled scientist.”

“Yes,” Quentin exhaled, “And he knew what had to be _done_. They – hell, I bet they all knew that. You risked your _life_ to – to do what, exactly? What made you believe I would overcome the Phoenix again?”

Daken blinked just once. “I was sure that you would.”

“There was no evidence to support that!” Quentin spat.”You took a risk for nothing. You just – trusted me to do it, like you – like you trusted me to stop the Phoenix before it killed you, but you had no evidence to suggest I would be able to do so! It could have killed you right there, and you did it anyway –”

“I know what I did, Quentin.”

“And do you know _why?_ ” he blurted out. Daken cocked his head just slightly.

“Yes, I do believe I do.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because they were going to let you die, and I couldn't permit that. Because I knew you could do it. I knew you could regain control. Yes. I trusted you.” He spoke the last words to himself.

“Why?” Quentin exhaled, defeated. _You know why. You know perfectly well why. Stop doing this to yourself, stop_ lying _to yourself, stop, stop,_ stop –

“I'm sorry.” Daken shut his eyes.

 _What?_ Quentin swallowed. “What?”

“I'm sorry,” Daken lowered his head, “I'm sorry that you spent five _years_ thinking you'd forced me, Quentin. You didn't –”

“Don't you dare,” Quentin growled. Daken's eyes snapped open. “Don't you _dare!_ Don't apologize for what _I_ did, like I didn't hurt you that night, I know what –”

“You don't know anything,” Daken said quietly. Fuck, why wouldn't he shout, why wouldn't he pop his claws out and tear Quentin apart – “That's what I'm trying to tell you, you didn't –”

“I know what I did!” Quentin shook his head, “I know that and you know that, don't try to hide behind lies. Don't lie. Stop lying. It was my fault.”

“It –”

“Shut up!” Quentin snapped. He had to dredge this out of himself. “I conditioned you. That’s not what I wanted, and we both know that, but I did. Don’t you dare tell me I didn’t, because _I saw it!_ I saw it! The other night, I saw it. You grabbed my arm and went still and soft, and you calmed down. You just stood against a _cosmic power_ , and I saw it, I _saw_ it. You wouldn’t even try to move away. You had no reason to believe I would stop it, but you did it anyway. You goaded it into killing you because you trusted me – but that trust isn’t real. It’s just a _construct_ , and you know that. I _implanted_ it in you years ago, and I didn’t want to, but I did. Every single time we saw one another you were forced by _that_ to depend on me – and that night, that night in the cemetery, you... you were forced by that. You didn’t move away because you _couldn’t_. I –” Quentin sobbed and lowered his head. “I raped you. I raped you and you know it, and you stand there looking at me like I’m crazy, but I’m not! I know what I did.”

“Yes.” Daken said quietly, and Quentin sobbed violently. “And no.”

“Stop lying –”

“ _I trust you_ ,” Daken said forcefully, “Because you never took advantage of that which is in me. Yes. It's there. I know that. I've always known that.”

That was insane. That was deranged – “Always–?”

“Of course I did. I spent my whole life under the thumb of a madman, Quentin,” he said quietly. “I know the signs in my mind.”

“I – I don't understand.” Quentin hugged himself. “I don't – if you knew, why didn't you tell me, why didn't you do something, why didn't you stay away from me?”

“I told you. You never took advantage of it.” Daken stood and watched him and his features were so soft. “We stumbled into each other when I needed you the most and you were there for me, always, and you never did anything. I was at my lowest and I needed you and you took me in your arms and did _nothing else_ , asked for nothing. You never asked for _anything_. You were just – there,” he grimaced. “And I ruined everything. I –”

“Stop it.” It was sickening, it was unreasonable and absurd and _horrifying_. “You – you ruined nothing. I asked for _nothing?_ That's not how it works, of course I wouldn't have _ever_ asked for anything, every time we saw each other there were those horrible, horrible things happening to you. How could I have ever asked for anything?”

“You'd be surprised,” Daken said softly, and it wasn't right, because Daken had had a lifelong toxic relationship with a monster and of course the bar was set so low.

“That's – no. That's not right. That's not _how it works_.”

“I know that now. And I know what you're thinking. But I'm telling you that I trust you, Quentin, not because _I have to_ , but because _I know I can_. You had me under your thumb and you never took advantage of it.”

“But that's not _true!_ ” Quentin passed a hand through his hair. “That's not – I _did_ take advantage of it, of you. That – that night.”

“I did nothing I didn't want to do.”

“Because you couldn't –”

“Because that’s how I _work_!” Daken snapped. “Because that’s what I _do_! I’m a trained dog, and I’m uncapable of dealing with certain things any other way, and I _needed_ you. I needed so desperately not to _think_ , and I fucked it all up. And then I made you believe that you’d done something when you hadn’t, when I only meant – dammit, Quentin. I only meant that I knew I’d fucked it all up, that I’d polluted everything because I’m left _crippled_ , and I wanted to comfort you, and – I did it in the only way I knew how. And it wasn’t _right_ – not when you’d just lost your –“ He shut his eyes again and leant heavily on the doorframe. “I’m sorry for that thing I said about Evan, Quentin,” he said in a heavy exhalation. “I shouldn’t have.”

 _I have no intention of being burned alive_ . Quentin's stomach churned. “I _did_ kill him.”

“I shouldn't have said that. I knew it was cruel and I said it anyway.”

“You wanted to hurt me.”

“Yes. I did.”

“Because you know that what I did to you wasn't right. Because you know –”

“Stubborn idiot! Did you hear what I said?” Daken snapped his eyes open, walked towards him. “You didn't force me to do anything, Quentin, you let me do what I wanted. You stepped down and let me do what _I_ wanted. And – I said that thing, I deliberately hurt you, to show you what I am, because apparently me being a murderer _doesn't_ stop you, to make you get away from me, because I _saw_ how you were suffering because of _me_ –”

“You're lying to yourself, and taking the blame, when you know that if you looked at it objectively you'd see that –”

“But I don't care!” Daken snarled when he reached him. “I don't _care_. Would I do anything you tell me to do? Yes. Probably. But you wouldn't ask and I _know_ you wouldn't. And I know that if you did, you'd hate yourself. And I can't let you – I can't stand to see you like this when it all happened because I'm a stubborn fool.”

“ _I_ can't stand to see you like this. I can't look at you – I can't _bear_ to see you and know that I hurt you that way. Did you hear what you just said?” Quentin shut his eyes against the tears threatening to spill. Daken stood before him, his face marked, his mind violated by Quentin, and he didn’t care about any of it – he only cared about how that affected _Quentin_. “Do anything I tell you to do? I don't _want_ that.”

“I _know_ ,” Daken said fiercely. “That's why I can trust you with this, because I know I'm safe with you, I know my _mind_ is safe.”

“But not the rest.” Quentin opened his eyes, raised a hand hesitantly – Daken didn't move away. Quentin hovered his fingers over Daken's cheek, not daring to touch him. “These. These happened because you didn't think straight, because your mind was bent by me. Because you were so sure I would –”

“I thought you were going to _die_ ,” Daken said fiercely, his eyes ablaze. “I couldn’t bear the thought. I couldn’t just leave it at that. I had to do something. I had to try to save you. I –” He blinked quickly. “I’m glad I did.And you can think it was all because I had no other choice, but even if it was so, I don't care.”

“You could have solved your problems. You could have been freed from me, freed from this –”

“I don't _want_ to be freed from you.” Daken yanked Quentin's shirt and snatched him closer – Quentin yelped in surprise as Daken's fists closed around the fabric.

“See, that's exactly –”

“Shut up.” Daken looked at him. His eyes were as tear-filled as Quentin’s. “See? I can speak up and nothing happens to me. I can hurt you. I did hurt you, and nothing happens to me. Because it doesn’t work the way you think it does, Quentin. I’m not a zombie.”

“You almost _died_ because of me.”

“Yes,” Daken exhaled. “And I’ve wasted so much time already. I don’t want to waste any more.”

He stepped closer. Far too close. His hands were trembling slightly around Quentin’s shirt. “I don’t want to regret this. I regret so much in my life – but not this. I thought I was going to lose you, and I – I never considered that _you_ might die before –” He caught himself, breath hitching. They were so close – too close. Quentin wanted nothing more than to kiss the tears from Daken’s eyes.

They couldn't do this.

It was obvious what Daken was about to do and _it wasn't right._

And yet, a gasp escaped Quentin's lips before he could stop it. “Before –?”

Daken drew closer.

But he didn't kiss Quentin.

He pressed his forehead to Quentin’s cheek, exhaling softly as he did. He stayed there, face pressed against Quentin’s neck, his warm breath making the skin at Quentin’s throat tingle. Quentin stood frozen, unable to move away. He had to move away. This wasn’t right – he was taking advantage of what he’d planted in Daken’s brain.

“I –” Quentin swallowed. “I can't.”

“You care about me,” came a faint whisper. “You care about the cruel old mess that I am. You always did.” Daken pressed his nose to Quentin’s throat. It was cold.

“Of course I do.” If he didn’t react, nothing would come of this. No harm would come of it. If he just stood still and let Daken stand there, pressed against him, everything would be alright. If he didn’t touch Daken, everything would be fine.

His heart was hammering in his ears.

“And I accept that.” Daken’s voice was so soft, barely a whisper. “You were always there for me, never asked for anything. And it sounded too absurd to be true, but I was glad. You were the first to show me I could have something like that.” He adjusted his grip on Quentin’s shirt, his fingers tightening even more. “And no doubt ever touched your mind. You trusted me in return when I’d given you no reason to – when I could have been doing my best to manipulate you, or have been using my pheromones.”

“You didn't.”

“I couldn’t.” Daken had closed his eyes. Quentin could feel his eyelids pressed against his skin. “I couldn’t have. I didn’t want to hurt you. And then I did – but you stayed. You keep worrying about me as if I’d never made you bleed. Fuck, you’re standing here and you don’t even hate me for blackmailing you and your friends, for using you, as if you don’t care –”

“I don’t.” He understood why they’d capitalised on his outburst in the bar. He really did. “I’m not proud of what I did, but that was me. I did and said those things of my own free will. It’s my place to take responsibility for that, if needs be. And – you’re taking great care of your kids. The footage was useful in your takeover of Madripoor, so you used it. It’s that simple. I get that. I really do, Daken, it’s alright –”

“No, it's _not_.” Daken murmured. “It's not. You should hate me for that – for all the things I _said_ to push you away –”

“I –” Quentin shut his eyes. “You had every right in the world to.”

“No.” Daken was nuzzling Quentin’s throat and cheek. “That’s not true. I shouldn’t have. I saw that you cared, and I was so terrified of hurting you even more –”

“I hurt you,” Quentin said, because it wasn’t right that Daken was still beating himself up over something that wasn’t his fault. It was Quentin’s. He raised an arm – slowly, hesitantly, he cupped Daken’s face, felt the rough texture of the burns against his fingers. Daken turned his head just slightly, leaning into Quentin’s palm. Quentin opened his eyes as Daken sighed, and he couldn’t see a damn thing through the fog of tears. “I’m sorry –”

“You're apologizing because you care about me.”

“Yes.” His throat tightened. “I told you.”

“Then why can't you accept that I do as well? That I know what's in my mind, and I know what is in front of me, I know myself –”

“Because it’s not – because you can’t know if it’s real, not when you said you think you’d do anything I told you to.”

“Ah.” Daken exhaled softly. “So if you think I'm hanging on your every word, by extension, I shouldn't be able to do this.” He turned his face against Quentin's palm and pressed a kiss to it. Then another, and another, and Quentin's breath hitched in his throat.

“What are you doing?”

“What you don't want me to do.” Daken pressed a series of small kisses from his palm to his wrist and Quentin couldn't bring himself to pull away, his skin tingling. “What you think I shouldn't do.” Daken turned his head, placed a kiss on Quentin's throat. “Tell me to stop and let's see if I obey,” he murmured, tracing Quentin's jugular with his lips.

“Stop.”

“No.” Daken kept kissing his throat, small faint brushes, “No. My turn. Move away.”

“I –” he couldn't move. He couldn't _move_ , his hand shaking against Daken's cheek. He wanted to but he couldn't, heart hammering, breath quickening, blood rushing to his lenght, this wasn't right –

“Move away.” Daken raised his head, planted kisses up Quentin's jaw as he went. “I'm not stopping. See?” He brushed his lips gently against Quentin's cheek. “Tell me to stop.”

“ _Stop_ ,” his voice came out strangled.

“I am in control of myself, Quentin.” Daken continued, his lips skimming the faintest brushes over Quentin’s jawline, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m not your dog. I do want you. God, I’ve wanted you for so – so long –” his voice cracked and he finally stopped, his mouth pressed against Quentin’s cheek, just an inch from Quentin’s mouth. He looked up at him from beneath his eyelashes, his pupils dilated, and Quentin’s heart skipped a beat.

“If you want to stop this,” Daken murmured. “If you want nothing to do with me, move away now. Leave. Do it.”

He waited, fingers loose around Quentin’s shirt. He moved his head away, just a few inches, and waited. Waited for Quentin to call an end to this madness. If he left now, he could pretend that nothing had happened between them. He could pretend he didn’t want Daken pressed against him with a desperation that frightened him, pretend that he didn’t want Daken looking up at him as he was, pretend he didn’t want Daken’s lips against his throat. He could pretend he was doing the right thing instead of hiding behind excuses. He could pretend that Daken wasn’t right, that his little experiments proved nothing. By moving away, he could make peace with himself.

“You're still here.” Daken's breath was warm against Quentin's lips. Quentin's hand was still pressed against Daken's cheek as if it belonged there.

It did.

“Yes.”

Without missing a beat, Daken reached up and kissed him, close-mouthed and soft, his lips brushing against Quentin’s. Quentin responded in kind, lips moving just barely against Daken’s. It was fragile and almost-not-there – ephemeral. He yearned to drag his teeth over Daken’s lips, but he followed Daken’s lead and kept his mouth closed. He wouldn’t do anything to influence the direction this was headed – instead, he would be content to just stand and let Daken exact whatever he wanted upon him, if that was his desire.

He raised his other arm and grasped Daken’s shoulder, and it felt right. His hand dropped from Daken’s cheek, his fingers brushing over Daken’s neck, and Daken tightened his grip on Quentin’s shirt again. Quentin pressed his hand against Daken’s shoulderblade, and Daken stepped closer still – unbearably, maddeningly close, so much so that Quentin’s clothed erection was pressed against the hard muscle of Daken’s stomach. Daken whimpered and parted his lips, and Quentin responded immediately – but it wasn’t rushed. It was everything but. It was slow, and deep, and good, and Daken set the pace, his tongue moving languidly against Quentin’s.

His hands rose to cup Quentin’s face. This was different from the absurd, desperate kiss they’d shared as the Phoenix roamed his mind; that kiss had tasted of ashes and blood. And it was different, too, from that frenzied mess they’d shared in that damn cemetery, that union that had been choked with so much pain. No, this was focused and unhurried. They had all the time in the world. They could stay in that room forever. Quentin never wanted to leave, to stop, or to ever move again.

But they had to breathe. Daken broke the kiss, and Quentin opened his eyes. Daken was excruciating to behold; cheeks flushed, lips parted, panting slightly. There was fire in those dilated pupils – real fire. The two of them were hemmed in by flames of Quentin’s own making. But they weren't burning anything. Quentin wouldn't _let_ them burn Daken.

Daken stepped back suddenly, dragging Quentin with him, fingers tight around Quentin's face. He was walking backwards and then sitting, hands on Quentin's shoulders, pushing him down with him, and Quentin sat astride Daken as the other man adjusted his position, pulling them further backwards still until only Quentin’s feet dangled over the edge of the bed. The bed. They were on the bed, and Daken was running his hands down Quentin’s sides until they came to a halt atop his hips. Daken held Quentin firmly against himself as he raised his head to resume the kiss. It was more furious this time, more violent, Daken biting and grazing his lips, devouring his mouth, his hands teasing beneath Quentin’s shirt. His fingers were cold against Quentin’s skin – and Quentin could only return the kiss with equal urgency, equal intensity, his palms pressed to Daken’s shoulders, fingers digging into the skin there.

Daken pushed Quentin’s shirt up, growling deep in the back of his throat. The vibration reached Quentin’s very core, and he broke the kiss and wriggled quickly out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor as Daken parted the folds at the top of his own costume and shook it from his shoulders so that it fell onto the bed.

Daken was pale and fit and utterly gorgeous, his chest heaving as Quentin hesitantly ran his palms over it. Daken was too much, his hands brushing almost reverently against Quentin’s stomach, then moving to his back where he dug his fingers hard into the small of Quentin’s back. He pressed his face to Quentin’s neck, licked and kissed and sucked at the hollow of his throat. Quentin couldn’t breathe, could only make strangled sounds, his hips bucking desperately against Daken. The friction wasn’t enough – it was unbearable. His unsteady gaze fell on the clawed paw tattooed on Daken’s right shoulder. It continued down Daken’s back some. It wasn’t part of the original design – Quentin knew the old tattoo, and it was still there, yes, but something had been added to it, a confused, colourful jumble of lines, the form of which Quentin couldn’t effectively discern from the angle he was at –

One of Daken's hands was moving to his hip again, agonizingly slowly as his teeth grazed Quentin's neck, and Quentin placed his hand on Daken's shoulder to steady himself, fingers tracing the talons. It looked like a dragon's paw.

Daken's fingers hooked the waistband of Quentin's pants and Quentin heard his own breath hitch. Daken raised his head; the absence of his mouth on his throat made Quentin whimper.

“May I?” Daken murmured. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, but they didn't move an inch from there – they remained still on Quentin's hip, and the anticipation was painful, was _unbearable._ Quentin bucked at the mere thought. The front of the sweatpants was embarassingly dampened already.

“Yes,” he exhaled. “Oh god, _yes_ –" His voice faltered as Daken wrapped his fingers around his cock and set to working it with a series of relaxed, languid strokes. He pressed his face against Quentin’s neck once more so that he could lap at the sweat that had built there. Quentin realised he was whimpering softly as Daken’s long, slender fingers brushed skillfully and too slowly down his length. He only realised that he was digging his nails into Daken’s chest in frustration when Daken moaned against his throat. Oh. He hadn’t considered that Daken must be significantly more frustrated than him. Quentin lowered his hand, brushing his fingers over Daken’s stomach. He managed to shift his hips backwards slightly to allow enough space for him to reciprocate, but when his fingertips reached the hem of Daken’s pants, Daken bit Quentin’s shoulder and ceased his ministrations.

“Not yet,” he choked – almost growled – as his other hand came to press at the small of Quentin’s back. He started up again, stroking Quentin’s cock at a much quicker tempo than before. _Not. Yet – okay. I. Wait._ Quentin’s mind was almost in short-circuit, his synapses preoccupied solely with the friction and jolting his hips forwards to meet the source of the pleasure – but he tried his best to cling to reason, tried to figure out what he could offer Daken in return. Kiss. Fuck, he wanted to kiss Daken so badly that he almost salivated at the thought. He lifted his left hand from Daken’s shoulder and took hold of Daken’s ponytail, tugged experimentally to get his attention – and Daken raised his head sharply, pupils blown, lips parted. His mouth was on Quentin’s before Quentin could do anything, kissing him sloppily, _furiously_ , hand moving over Quentin’s cock with desperate purpose, and Quentin almost lost his balance then, and had to yank Daken’s hair to steady himself –

Daken moaned obscenely loud into his mouth. _Okay_ , Quentin thought in a haze, _He likes that. Okay_ , and he raised the other hand too, and somehow managed to reach up and release Daken's hair from the tight tie, yanking as he went because it _really_ was tied tightly – but the sounds Daken was making and the way his fingers were tightening around Quentin's cock were worth the mess. When it was free he buried his fingers in Daken's hair and pulled hard as he took control of the kiss, and Daken yielded – but now his hand was unbearably fast, and Quentin's ears were a loud cacophony of screeches and he thrust into Daken's hand and –

He came and saw white, a loud moan escaping his lips as he tightened his fists in Daken's hair. Daken’s fingers remained around Quentin’s cock, but his hand had stilled, the mere brush of them an overstimulation. Daken pressed Quentin to himself, the other hand still at the small of his back, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. He kept kissing him, open-mouthed and furious, sucking Quentin’s tongue into his mouth, nipping at Quentin’s lips – but Quentin could hardly breathe. He broke the kiss and opened his eyes.

Daken was a vision before him, his cheeks reddened, lips swollen, chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. His hair fell against his shoulders like a powerful waterfall.

He was breathtaking to behold.

And he seemed to want more than to just be stared at.

His hand moved from the small of Quentin’s back, up to trace his spine, and he finally released Quentin’s cock with the other. He didn’t speak as he slowly lowered himself onto the bed, leaning on his elbow, the other hand pressing insistently at Quentin’s shoulderblade, urging him to follow. Quentin let go of Daken’s hair so that he could brace himself on the bed as he straddled Daken. Daken was staring up at him with unfocused eyes, his hair forming a wild grey halo as it spread against the covers. He raised his head from the bed to kiss Quentin again, to devour his mouth as his hand moved to the nape of Quentin’s neck, keeping him firmly held there. His other arm went to encircle Quentin’s waist and bring their bodies flush together. They moved against one another in silence – or not quite so. Daken was making little sounds in the back of his throat, whimpering quietly as he moved his hips rhythmically to rub against Quentin.

That couldn't be enough.

Daken whined when Quentin broke the kiss, and then keened, fingers grasping Quentin's hair, as Quentin's mouth moved to his throat to lick with large swipes of his tongue. Balancing himself on an arm, Quentin maneuvered so that he would straddle only one leg, parting Daken's thighs with a knee. He considered his options. Daken had let him do that, his fingers dug deeply in Quentin's shoulder, the other hand still yanking Quentin's hair – but he was keeping otherwise still, hips jolting just slightly. At no point had he made any move to undress Quentin or himself further. He didn't want that.

Quentin kept kissing and licking Daken's throat as he caressed Daken's chest and stomach, palm slowly sliding against the shin of their sweat. He reached down and palmed Daken's erection through the costume's fabric and Daken moaned and lifted his hips.

Quentin raised his head to look at Daken's face – he returned Quentin's gaze feverishly, his lips parted.

“Can I?” Quentin asked, and Daken shut his eyes. No answer came for what felt like centuries; Quentin kept his hand still, thought he should maybe stop everything, but eventually Daken nodded.

“Yes,” he exhaled.

“Like this?” Quentin slowly rubbed his hand over the outline of Daken’s cock. Daken’s breath hitched, and his hips rolled forward to meet Quentin’s hand. The front of the costume was damp. “Or do you want me to touch you directly?”

“ _Quentin_.” It was spoken so haltingly that Daken seemed to be choking, his eyes tightly shut. Quentin pressed a kiss to Daken's throat, felt Daken's pulse throb against his lips.

“Yes,” Quentin murmured, tracing Daken's jugular with his lips. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“ _Yes_.” Daken's fingers were digging so deeply into Quentin's shoulder that they were bound to leave bruises. “Yes, touch me. Touch me, touch me, touch me –”

“Directly?” Quentin asked again, his palm rubbing gently against the damp fabric covering Daken's hardness. “Or like this?”

“Hai, directly, _hai_ , please –”

It was difficult to unknot the cloth that functioned as a belt for Daken’s costume using only one hand, but Quentin managed with the help of his telekinesis. When he freed Daken's erection, Daken sighed softly, eyes still tightly shut – but he almost seemed to be _crying_ , a moisture visible at the corners.

“ _Hey_.” Quentin stilled. “Are you okay?” He suddenly felt sad, so sad; tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes as well, and his chest was tight. _Pheromones?_ “Daken? Do you want me to stop?”

Daken shook his head, opened his eyes – yes, he _was_ crying – and smiled in a way that broke Quentin's heart. “Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ stop.” He caught Quentin's arm. “Hai. Yes, _touch_ me. Ore wa – _please_ –”

Quentin hesitantly wrapped his fingers around Daken's leaking cock, stroked –

Daken's hips jolted, and after a few frantic thrusts he came, head rolling back as he emitted a loud moan, eyes fluttering shut again. His grip on Quentin loosened, almost as if he were unconscious.

Quentin nudged Daken's throat with his nose. “Daken?” No response. Daken was breathing quietly.

He'd passed out. Quentin disentangled himself from him and gently placed his arms at his sides, then he knelt beside him on the bed. He looked so peaceful, but his face was still wet with tears. Why had he cried? Quentin leant down to cup his cheek, fingers touching the burns. His chest ached. The horrifying doubt hit him again, gnawed at him. And yet he'd asked if he should stop, and Daken had refused. No, Daken had made pretty clear before that he was in control of himself. And his features were so soft –

It was unbearable to watch. He was painfully beautiful, and Quentin's chest ached, and he had to lower his gaze from Daken's face. Would Daken want him to stay, at least till he woke up? Quentin looked down at himself – his sweatpants were a mess – he could feel his come smearing the inside and itch already. If Daken told him to go, maybe he would lend Quentin something?

Daken's stomach was covered in come, too. Quentin decided to wipe him clean – he lifted his shirt from the floor with his telekinesis and caught it with his hand, then rubbed it gently against Daken's skin. When he finished he set it on the floor again – he didn't want to ruin Daken's sheets.

He looked at Daken's face again. It was relaxed and contented, and that made his heart swell and float and ache, ache so much he almost couldn't breathe. He'd come here seeking the confirmation of his fears and had found something else instead, something far more precious and vulnerable, something he hadn't dared hope for. Daken didn't hate him. Daken thought this worked and Quentin wanted to believe that – Quentin knew that it could. He had been so afraid, so terribly afraid, but Daken wasn't a puppet in his hands, not a conditioned dog.

There _was_ something in his head, though; Daken had confirmed as much. But he had control over it.

And yet, surely, he wouldn’t object to what Quentin intended to propose – his idea to let the Cuckoos dismantle whatever it was he’d built up in there. They would surely wake up soon, Quentin hoped, guilt twisting his guts –

Quentin wanted to make things right. There was – there was something between them, and he wanted to make things right.

He settled beside Daken, lay on his side as the bed was too little for two, and hesitantly placed a hand over Daken's shoulder.

Daken's eyes fluttered open – Quentin hadn't expected him to regain consciousness that quickly – and turned his head towards him.

“Hey,” Quentin murmured.

Daken blinked. “I suppose that was disappointing for you.”

Quentin furrowed his brows. “No.” Surprised, he propped himself up on his elbow. Daken looked up at him. What was he referring to? _Disappointing_ – why on Earth should Quentin feel that way? Unless – Quentin's chest tightened. Was it possible that he was referring to the lack of intercourse? “Absolutely not,” he reassured Daken, shocked that Daken would think he owed Quentin anything, that he would assume that Quentin would have found what they had just shared _disappointing_ because of it.

Daken cocked his head, still staring up at him, a hand coming up to cup Quentin's cheek, his gaze searching Quentin's face. His nostrils flared just slightly, maybe to catch any hint of lie. “No?”

“ _No_ ,” Quentin said firmly.

Apparently satisfied with his answer – what had he expected Quentin to say? – Daken moved his hand to the nape of Quentin's neck to guide him down again. He kissed him slowly, his lips merely brushing Quentin's, moving softly over to his jaw. “Good.”

Quentin let the kiss happen, settling down against Daken's chest. He hadn't expected this – he didn't know what he'd expected, but for sure _not_ for Daken to wake up and express such worries, and most of all not for him to press Quentin against him with no urgency to it, so affectionate, delicacy in his every movement. He wanted to ask Daken why he'd cried, but that would have been prying into something he feared he knew the answer to.

“What happens now?” he asked softly, instead.

Daken stilled. “Now?”

“Yes. With – with us.”

Daken looked away – Quentin's heart skipped a beat. Oh, he'd fucked up. He'd taken everything for granted, made assumptions and now Daken thought he was a clingy fool.

He tried to salvage it. “Are – are you going to stay in the school? With us?”

Daken looked at him again. “I'll stay for as long as you let me, I suppose. For as long as our interests align.”

That could mean anything. But Quentin supposed it was only fair. “Okay.”

“But that wasn't what you asked.”

“I –” Quentin cleared his throat. “Am I going to see you again?”

“I'm here, Quentin, I suppose you will.” Daken smirked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They were almost dull, as if he were shielding himself, building up a wall. Jesus. Quentin felt his heart race. He was fucking it all up, fucking it _all_ up – “Calm down.” Daken's fingers traced patterns on Quentin's nape. “I take it you don't do random hook-ups.”

Quentin's heart sank. “ _Oh_.” He forced himself to laugh, but it rang hollow. “No. I don't – I haven't in a while.”

Daken kept caressing his nape. He lowered his gaze. “If I had wanted a random hook-up, Quentin,” he said slowly, brows furrowing as if what he was saying perplexed him, “If I hadn't cared, I'd _have_ fucked you in Tokyo. Well before we got to the point where you asked me to –” he winced, and Quentin bit his tongue, recalling his own horrid words, and Daken snarling: _You're hurting me_ now. “If I hadn't cared, I wouldn't have even cared that you were drunk. I told you before. But now – I wasted so much time and now it's so _late_ –”

 _Oh._ Oh – what was he trying to say? He was as confused about this as Quentin, probably. Quentin wasn't sure of what exactly Daken was saying, but hope dawned anew. He tried to keep his voice steady. “Hey. It's not _late_ – I'm here.”

“I'll hurt you,” Daken said after a few moments of silence. He raised his eyes again. There was something in there that Quentin couldn't quite place. A sadness, almost. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“I'm a big man, I can take it,” Quentin joked, in an effort to lighten the mood. Daken clenched his jaw. “Look,” Quentin sobered, and placed his hand on Daken's chest, fanned his fingers over Daken's black tattoo. “People hurt each other all the time. It happens. I – I hurt a lot of people, too. I hurt _you_.” Daken shook his head, but Quentin continued, “No, it's true. We hurt each other – we made a _mess_. It's pointless to swear it won't ever happen and I wouldn't insult you like that. What's important is – is taking _care_ of each other. Doing your best. Knowing when to stop. We can try. I – I want to try. If you want to. I want to try this.”

“This.” Daken inhaled.

“This – I don't know, whatever this is. This thing between us –” Daken was staring up at him, his expression simultaneously guarded and vulnerable. Quentin broke off, tried to tone himself down. He was definitely being too intense. “I sound like a pining teenager, don't I?” he cracked a stupid grin. Daken cocked an eyebrow.

“You _are_ a stupid teenager. You're terribly young.”

“I'm an adult, thank you very much,” Quentin scoffed. “I'm what, half your age?”

“Two fifths,” Daken said distractedly, almost as if he'd done the math. He continued tracing patterns on Quentin's nape. “But no, I know you aren't a kid anymore.”

“Yep. I'm a gorgeous adult and I have all my life ahead of me. I'm alive! Thanks to _you_ ,” he nuzzled Daken's throat. “It's true, I won't accept other denials.”

“Truly gorgeous.” Daken's voice was wavering, perhaps in amusement.

“Well thank you.” Quentin pressed a kiss to his throat. “So. I'd like to try. If – if you want. For some time?”

Daken moved his hand to tilt Quentin's chin up. There was that strange sad smile again on his lips. He blinked a few times. “For some time.” He wrapped his arm around Quentin, and dragged the both of them up so that they would lay more confortably on the bed.

It was natural to rest his forehead against Daken's, to stare down into those bright blue eyes, waiting with bated breath.

Daken reached up to brush his lips against Quentin's. “Yes.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next: "There?"_ Daken furrowed his brows. "You mean _there_ in Madripoor?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm mortified you all had to wait this long x(
> 
> From now on the fic is unfortunately unbeta'd, so I'm sorry for any mistakes you might encounter. Feel free to point them out to me.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter contains angst, fluff, and a scene that makes me laugh hysterically every time I reread it... so it won't obviously make any of you laugh, I can feel it xD kudos if you find it, though ;)

14.

“Between two lungs it was released  
the breath that carried me,  
the sight that blew forward;  
'cause it was trapped,  
trapped between two lungs.”

Florence + the Machine –  _Between two lungs_

 

 

_I'm going to die soon._

It wasn't difficult to say: it was a simple sentence.

_I'm going to die soon. I can't do this. You deserve more than this._ That was what he ought to be saying. Push the foolish man away, tell him that it had been a nice fuck and that he should go now – instead, he was pressing Quentin to himself and kissing him so softly, as the precious fragile thing he was – and he was asking for  _reassurance_ . He ought to cut everything off now – and yet, seeing Quentin upon waking up had made his chest ache. His presence had been reassuring _..._ his soft gaze a confirmation of the  _care_ the man had put in every movement after he'd reached his own climax – oh, how excruciatingly beautiful he'd looked as he'd taken care of Daken's pleasure next. Daken had had careful lovers, lovers who weren't only interested in what Daken would give but also in what they could give in return – but oh, the quiet fire in Quentin's eyes was something else. How careful he'd been, how  _patient_ , and how attentive in making sure he wasn't doing  _anything_ that Daken wouldn't want, alerted by their conversation and by his own  thoughtfulness . It had been in that moment that Daken had realized what he was about to lose, and had that stupid moment of sadness. And Quentin asking if he should  _stop_ upon seeing his tears had made his chest ache even  _more_ . And seeing him beside him now –

This wasn't right for Quentin. Oh, Daken had hoped - no, had  _prayed_ \- that Quentin was acting upon a misguided, fatal mixture of crippling guilt and sexual attraction. He'd prayed that Quentin would be unsatisfied with the sex, would  _surely_ realize that Daken was nothing more than damaged goods. He'd fervently hoped that their talking would reassure Quentin, make him see that Daken was fine – and that they would part ways like this. Daken would have treasured this night for the time he had left, and all would be well.

But Quentin was... was asking for commitment. Quentin had no intention of letting him go, not now that he'd  _found_ him, not now that they'd talked. Daken had never bared himself so  _much_ , and he wanted to ask the maddening man what the hell did he  _find_ in Daken. How could he look at him and see anything more than a selfish murderer who was apparently  _using_ Quentin's lowest moment to secure his own position in the school? This was madness.

_I'm going to die soon, and I can't – I_ can't – and yet this felt so right... Quentin pressed against him felt so right.  _I_ can't _do this, knowing that I'm going to die_ . He needed to leave – run like the coward he was, run away before he hurt Quentin. But he couldn't – his children needed him here at the school, and here he would stay. He would see Quentin constantly, that ache in his chest would burn constantly. He  _needed_ to cut this off.

But Quentin was looking at him with anticipation and  _hope_ , and his heartbeat was growing wild as Daken said those stupid things about  _hook-ups;_ he laughed bravely to show that what Daken was saying wouldn't affect him – but that was a lie.

Daken amended what he'd just said – and what came out of his mouth sounded dangerously close to  _I want to commit to you too_ . Surely he couldn't – surely that wasn't what he'd meant. Surely he couldn't be such a fool. He knew that this would lead to ruin and pain. He knew that this would never work. They were too different. There was no time left.

He was going to  _die_ soon.

“I wasted so much time and now it's so _late_ –” his mouth betrayed him. He'd been a stubborn fool and his time was running out and this felt so right, this had been the only moment of respite he'd had in years – as if a gaping hole in his chest had been mended.

“Hey,” Quentin exhaled, “It's not _late_ – I'm here,” he said, reassuring and soft, foolish man, and he sounded so reasonable. It was true – he was there. He was there, there in Daken's arms, and it sounded like a promise. But this was just the post-coital afterglow, Daken tried to tell himself: this was just pillow talk. Pillow talk was when secrets were torn out of impressionable lovers – it was no marker of sincerity. And he was a man that had made an art of that deception. He was a man that hurt others in their bedrooms. This conversation was painfully honest on Quentin's part, but Daken knew better. He knew _himself_. He was doing it right _now_ : he was hiding the reason of his reluctance. He was hiding it, because he didn't want to face the conversation that would follow – some empty reassurance on Quentin's part, or maybe even his offering to _help_ , as if what was coming could be stopped, when Daken didn't even _want_ to know if it could –

“I'll hurt you,” he said when he realized he'd kept silent for too long, and raised his eyes again, found himself staring into Quentin's startling hazel eyes. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“I'm a big man, I can take it,” Quentin joked, and Daken clenched his jaw. He wanted to believe that. He really wanted to. But he'd seen already that Quentin was breakable. “Look,” Quentin placed his hand on Daken's chest, so warm and reassuring, and fanned his fingers against Daken's old tattoo. “People hurt each other all the time. It happens. I – I hurt a lot of people, too. I hurt _you_.” They'd had this conversation not even a _hour_ ago. Frustrated, Daken shook his head, but Quentin went on, “No, it's true. We hurt each other – we made a _mess_. It's pointless to swear it won't ever happen and I wouldn't insult you like that. What's important is – is taking _care_ of each other. Doing your best. Knowing when to stop. We can try. I – I want to try. If you want to. I want to try this.”

“This.” Daken inhaled. _Knowing when to stop._ Maybe – maybe he could try. Try for some time. Maybe Quentin would tire of him, eventually, and they would part before it was Daken's time. Maybe he could make the best of what he had left. He would be grateful even for some blessed weeks. He wanted so desperately to say yes. He wanted so desperately to have Quentin beside him.

It was so selfish of him. So selfish.

“This – I don't know, whatever this is,” Quentin was saying softly, “This thing between us –” he broke off, and looked almost embarrassed, an endearing blush suffusing his cheeks. “I sound like a pining teenager, don't I?” he grinned. Daken cocked an eyebrow.

“You _are_ a stupid teenager,” he felt compelled to tease Quentin. “You're terribly young.”

“I'm an adult, thank you very much,” Quentin scoffed jokingly. “I'm what, half your age?”

“Two fifths.” Oh, didn't he see it? Didn't he realize that? Daken was so much older than him. He _knew_ that Daken was aging, he surely saw the wrinkles on Daken's face, the state of his body. His hair was grey. _Why_ didn't that stop him? How could that not raise at least some alarm in the man's mind? “But no, I know you aren't a kid anymore.”

“Yep. I'm a gorgeous adult and I have all my life ahead of me.” _God_. Daken felt a lump in his throat. Yes... Quentin had all his life ahead of him, and he would go on. He'd have a fulfilling life. In the meantime, Daken's time was running out. He had no room for doubt anymore. He'd ruined everything already, he'd wasted so much time. He'd gone after all the wrong things for a good portion of his life. He had his children now, he had Laura, but this, _this_ in his arms – “I'm alive!” Quentin said cheerfully – painfully _young_. “Thanks to _you_ ,” he nuzzled Daken's throat. “It's true, I won't accept other denials.”

“Truly gorgeous.” Daken's voice cracked as he felt tears gather at the corners of his eyes. Quentin was a precious, beautiful creature, and he was choosing to share some of his time with Daken. Daken wouldn't rob him of it for too long. He wasn't going to be that selfish.

“Well thank you.” Quentin pressed a kiss to his throat. “So. I'd like to try. If – if you want. For some time?”

_For some time. I'll make the best of what I have left._ Daken blinked away the tears as he put his fingers under Quentin's chin to delicately tilt his head up. “For some time.” He wrapped his arm around Quentin, dragged the both of them up until his head was on the pillow – and Quentin rested his forehead against Daken's, and stared down at him, so earnest and young and full of life. Daken reached up to brush his lips against Quentin's. “Yes,” he murmured.

It was natural to turn the motion into a kiss, especially after seeing Quentin's eyes lighten up so beautifully. Quentin responded immediately, brushing softly his lips against Daken's, settling more comfortably against Daken's chest. It was slow and good and utterly unheated, and it was strange to kiss for the sake of it, not as prelude to sex but as a pleasant activity in itself – God, he had absolutely no desire for a  second round;  and fortunately, it appeared that Quentin didn't either: thank God for the man's refractory period.

Daken was no stranger to this particular kind of contentedness; he'd experienced it sometimes, with some lovers – this overwhelming urge. God, how long had it been? Years, so many years. The simple feeling of touching and reveling in each other, without having to  _use_ the other person. He yearned for a different kind of touch too, but that could wait. This was so good and simple and honest, devoid of deception. There was no request in the way Quentin was moving, no imposition. He was contented with this as much as Daken was. His heartbeat was a soft lull in Daken's ears, his hands delicate as they cupped Daken's face, fingers brushing hesitantly the burns as he emitted a sharp inhale that indicated he was still upset at himself for those – but they would heal soon. He shouldn't worry about those. They were of no importance; Daken had worn far worse scars.

His cell phone broke the comfortable silence and he recalled abruptly what time it was. It was with reluctance that he moved an arm away from Quentin's warmth and to the left to catch the accursed device from the nightstand. Quentin looked down at him with a question in his eyes, his body already moving an inch away, but Daken kept him firmly pressed to himself. He had no intention of letting him go.

He'd been so engrossed that he'd forgotten to call Maiko; she must be asking herself what was he doing.

Daken reached up to press another kiss on Quentin's mouth before answering. The man's lips were damn kissable and he wanted to reassure him that he  _wasn't_ intruding. He was welcome to stay.

He and Maiko went through their routine as he traced patterns on Quentin's shoulder with his fingers, as Quentin placed his head on Daken's chest and breathed quietly, pressing his palm against Daken's side. It was peaceful in an eerie way, it was comfortable and soft. Daken felt like he could finally breathe again. Quentin smelt of clean underneath their sweat and come, and his hair brushed Daken's chin in a pleasant way. It was good.

As always, Maiko answered his inquiries on Eike's health and her own – Eike was still unwilling to face that conversation with Daken, but according to Maiko ne was, at least, sleeping soundly. And Daken had to admit that ne'd looked rested and  _serene_ at the White House. Of course, he hadn't had the time to delve on anything, to really talk with nem – but seeing nem like that had put his mind to rest, at least a little. It appeared that Maiko and Chie were really managing to take care of nem. He was grateful for that.

And Maiko appeared fine, too. There was always that tightness in her voice, coming from this terrible responsibility she'd taken on herself, but she appeared to be managing. Thank god she wasn't alone.

Maiko went on to describe the situation in Madripoor. There was shock on the island – rage and incredulity permeated the streets. There was still no clear report on how many, exactly, had died in front of the White House, but it was a high number. It had been a coward's attack, an insult that had struck true, and there was chaos and fear, too. The island's defenses were up, though, and more patrols had been instituted. An attack on Madripoor didn't seem likely, at least for now; had it been on the attackers' mind, it would have happened at the same time with that on the White House. Maybe the attackers' resources hadn't allowed that, or maybe they didn't think Madripoor was a threat. Daken fervently hoped the latter to be the case, but Maiko was stubborn, Eike was stubborn, and they would want to take action. They would want to ally with the X-Men and take action on this. He would support them, he would sell himself if needed, but he told her to be careful – he caught panic in his own voice, and then Quentin was caressing softly his chest, his arm, as if that could soothe his worries – and it did, almost.

“We will be careful, otousan, please don't worry,” Maiko said reassuringly, and he inhaled and forced himself to relax, and brought his fingers to Quentin's nape to brush them against the man's skin. Quentin shivered. “There's another thing –” Maiko hesitated. “Jean Grey is here.”

“ _There?_ ” Daken furrowed his brows. “You mean _there_ in Madripoor?”

“Yes. She arrived some hours ago – she sought asylum.”

“Which you didn't grant her.”

“Otousan! We are a mutant nation – the _only_ mutant nation – we said on the first day that we wouldn't turn _anyone_ down, and she's an oppressed mutant who _sought asylum_. We _couldn't_ tell her to just _leave_.”

“Oppressed? I wonder what the _humans_ on the island think about that.” Daken grimaced. She'd murdered _human_ protesters. What could the reaction of the Madripoor humans be? And that wasn't the only problem. “Maiko, this is _not_ how your first situation _of this kind_ should go. Granting political asylum is well and good, but you can't let the island turn into a criminal hideout, it will _kill_ it.”

“Says the Yakuza boss.”

“ _Maiko_.” Thank god this was a _secure_ line.

“Yes, sorry.” Maiko sighed. “I know that, otousan. I don't certainly want to suffocate any chance this island might have. But we have a _duty_. She had nowhere else to go –”

“Nowhere? What about _here?_ ”

Quentin raised his head from his chest and furrowed his brows in question. Daken shook his head.

“She didn't want to create problems to the X-Men –”

“Oh, but she can fuck _you_ over –”

“– and we _are_ equipped to deal with this situation in a sensible manner, while the X-Men aren't. They're an _organization_ , we are a _nation_. We can provide sanctuary without the whole situation turning into a vigilante group harboring a criminal. This is the best solution.”

“It's not. It will cause problems for you. As soon as it's known that she's there –”

“Otousan, honestly. I'm a lawyer, have you forgotten? I won't let anyone take her.”

“ _How_ , exactly, are you thinking of dealing with this?”

“For now, we'll press for a thorough investigation on the matter. This was a witch hunt from the start –”

“ _It was her_ ,” Daken growled, an arm tightening protectively around Quentin. The man was tormented enough without having other deaths on his conscience. And the X-Men were _sure_ that it had been Grey.

Quentin was looking at him with big questioning earnest eyes. If Maiko was set on doing this – pin everything on Quentin – Daken didn't know what he could do. He mentally kicked himself. He'd known it from the start – he'd known it when Maiko had decided to use that security video. He couldn't help  _both_ : he couldn't help both his children and Quentin. Dammit. What was he doing?

Maiko cleared her throat. “Yes. I'd thought you would say that.” Had she? And why was that so? “Look, otousan, I've watched that video as much as every person on this planet. She says she did it, too – she says that she felt it, that the Phoenix Force was too much and that she felt those around them die at her hands. She has  _no intention_ of denying that. The point here is another one.”

Relief washed briefly over him. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Maiko's voice took on a cold quality. “Thousands of mutants died and _it was a tragic incident_ and _nobody knows where to start investigating_ , _it was the work of the devil_ , you name it – but then a few humans die and _that_ shakes world governments. It's hypocritical. They should focus on running a thorough investigation to discover what the _hell_ happened, _who_ was behind the attack _on the White House_ , but instead they turn on this. It _is_ a witch hunt. The Congress will give the  Office to that waste of a human being and you know it. You think Edmondson will do something? Oh, he'll grovel on TV and ask for the mutant community's patience and understanding, he'll reassure them that investigations will be made, but it will be a farce.” She was so passionate as she talked, burning with righteous fury, his amazing daughter. “I _will_ protect this woman, otousan. God knows I despise her, but I won't betray my morals.” She inhaled. “So there's no need for our bluff anymore.”

Her words clanged in Daken's brain, leaving him speechless. He stared down at Quentin, unable to form words. What was she saying? What did she mean? Surely she didn't mean –

“We're taking care of their friend. We're taking it upon ourselves to protect her. That ought to mean something to the X-Men. Doesn't it?”

Daken merely blinked, all the while desperately trying to deconstruct the layers in what she was saying. “Yes.”

“We proved we're trustworthy. We sent _help_. I think they'll be more than willing to work with us without nasty things in the way. A clean slate, a new leaf in our cooperation. A _willing_ one.”

“Maiko – what are you saying?”

“I think you should tell them about Grey, for a start, and reassure them that she's fine. And then – come clean, call the bluff off. Tell the truth about the video, otousan,” Maiko said softly.

It was so far from what he'd thought she would say that he didn't know how to answer. Sure, her words made sense; but she'd clutched so viciously to that video, and she'd been right in doing so, as it was – it  _had been,_ before it got wiped away – such a powerful weapon. Why would she renounce to it? The  _relief_ he felt at her proposing so didn't keep him from seeing that it could be best to keep bluffing on this – even as he had his arm around Quentin, he saw clearly that it was suicidal.

“Look, otousan,” Maiko said, still with that soft voice. “We don't need it anymore. Not really. You _know_ these people. You told me _at the beginning_ that they would only need an excuse to work with us. And now they've seen how we work, they've seen how committed we are. They lost their ally, a _friend_ , and they're reeling and they're _furious_. As are we. They _will_ work with us. Don't you agree?”

“Yes.” The X-Men were _beyond_ furious. They were a force to be reckoned with and they were set on getting to the bottom of this.

“We'll need to have a mutual trust going on, and that can only happen if we show our cards. If we show them we are on the same page. They _won't_ throw you out if we show that we have no leverage on them anymore, will they?”

It was a rhetorical question. She didn't think the X-Men would have him leave – and neither did he. In fact, he'd been faced with nought but  _respect_ ever since he'd stopped the Phoenix. But still, her words were odd. Her voice was odd. “No. They won't. But, Maiko –”

“That's what I thought,” Maiko interrupted him. “Otousan. Laura told me what happened. She told me what you did. It had that reckless quality you only show sometimes.” Laura had _told her what happened?_ What was she talking about? “And it got me thinking. It got me thinking about what you said – what you almost said. That you _just couldn't_. And I thought about it a lot, otousan, I _really_ thought about everything again, because I wanted to help you. I wanted to give you a weapon to use against Phoenix – I wanted to protect you. But then I realized that you didn't need one. I realized that I got everything wrong that night, didn't I?”

“What night?” Daken asked, even as he understood perfectly well what she was talking about.

“When Phoenix trashed that bar, and you went and picked him up. You went and took him and he came with you and you brought him home without any accident. You gave that order to kill everyone in there – I thought he'd asked you to, that there was some blackmail at place, or a pact. But that's not what happened. You went and took him to _help_ him. You _knew_ him. You knew him _already_. Didn't you?”

“Yes,” he exhaled.

“And you shouted at me.”

He shut his eyes, embarrassed. “Maiko –”

“No. It makes sense now. I wanted to use that video and you _shouted_ at me not to. You were furious, otousan – I don't think you realized that. I've heard you that angry only a scant few times. And then you deleted it and tried to manage everything – you constructed this absurd, convoluted plan, when the easiest option was quite different. But I went on a convoluted mental trip, too, so we're even,” she said lightly. “I really didn't make use of my quick thinking on this one, otousan. I'm sorry.”

“Maiko, what –”

“So. I get it, I suppose. I get that you tried to balance everything out, to help me and Eike, but in such a way not to pose a _real_ threat to Phoenix. And that's okay, otousan. There's no need for that anymore. I'm telling you, call that bluff off. It's all right. He's a fine specimen, I suppose.” There was mirth in her voice. Daken looked upon Quentin, upon Quentin that was staring at him with furrowed brows because he didn't get what was happening – he didn't get why Daken was staring at him like that, why Daken's hand was tightening on his nape, why was Daken shocked at something Quentin couldn't hear.

This wasn't happening. His daughter  _wasn't_ jeopardising everything she'd worked for just because of  _him_ . He had to stop her –

“I don't know what you're thinking, Maiko, but –”

“I'm _thinking_ that you asked to be _thrown_ in order to pass _a wall of flames_ to save a man from being _killed from his teammates_. A dangerous, _out-of-control_ man that was about to _destroy the world_. A man which I thought you _didn't_ care about, but I obviously was wrong. I'm _thinking_ that blackmail isn't romantic at all, and I'm _thinking_ that we've got this covered, otousan. We have _everything_ covered. There's no need for that bluff anymore. I'm serious.”

“Maiko –”

“You have our backs, but we have _yours_ , otousan. Please, let us do this for you. _Please_.” Maiko sounded almost like she was begging, like this was of utmost importance to her and Eike, as if they only cared about this. How could they? How could they put some fantasy they'd _constructed_ about him and Quentin – regardless of how that could be close to the truth – before what they'd worked so hard for? _Blackmail isn't romantic?_ Why was she thinking of _romance_ , of all things? Why wasn't she simply assuming he was friend with Quentin? This conversation was surreal.

He needed to talk her out of this. It would have been much easier, had Quentin not been currently pressed on his chest. He couldn't hear what was Maiko saying, but he  _did_ and  _would_ hear everything on Daken's end of the conversation. Perhaps he ought to tell the man to leave –

“You're terribly silent,” Maiko said. “Look. I get that this isn't – uh – a normal father-daughter conversation. I'm stepping out of line.”

“That's not what worries me, Maiko,” Daken reassured her quickly. “You haven't thought this through. The cons outweigh the pros –” He moved his arm away from Quentin; the man got his meaning and rolled over immediately – and fell on the floor with a soft thud and a quiet yelp, them being on a single bed. _This is surreal. This is_ surreal – Daken hoped Maiko hadn't heard the noise, then bit his tongue. She had no means to discern its origins.

“But I _have_ , otousan.” Maiko spoke, as Daken had broken off when Quentin had fallen. The man emerged from the floor red-faced with embarrassment, an arm pressed on the bed to lift himself, and grinned at Daken. He was so terribly endearing: Daken found himself smiling back. “It's a peace offering. It's a clean slate, it permits us to work together without the other _worrying_ about being sold. They're even offering to help with the clones, otousan, we're on the same boat.”

“It _doesn't_ permit you not to worry! You'd turn the tables at your disadvantage.” Daken sat up, pinched the bridge of his nose. Quentin was still staring at him – he hadn't got up from the floor yet. _Dammit_. Dammit, he was making a mess of this.

“I get what you mean, but I seriously doubt they'd out Eike to the world. Not after – not after what _happened_ , otousan.”

“You can't know that. You can't be sure.” Daken turned his back on Quentin, placed his feet on the floor. He tied the belt around the costume's pants again. “You think I want to do this? You think I'm _happy_ about this? You think I don't _want_ to do what you're suggesting?”

“Otousan –”

“ _Dammit_ , Maiko.” He lowered his head – and saw Quentin's shirt on the floor. It was dirty with come. Had the man cleaned Daken up while he was passed out? He was so attentive and Daken was _using_ him – “Yes. You're right. I'm _sick_ of this. But I have to think about _you_ first. This – this was a mistake –” A damn mistake. How had he been so stupid? Had he really thought he could have whatever there was with Quentin, and at the same time blackmail him? Quentin said he didn't care – he said this now, but oh, in a few days things would change. And Daken had the means to stop it, Maiko was giving him the means to stop the lies and the deception, but that hadn't relieved him – that had only made him realize that he _couldn't_ , that he had to think of his children first. He was still objective, thank god. He saw that this would put them in a dangerous situation with the X-Men – trust was well and good, he _doubted_ that the X-men would try something, but having a failsafe was _better_.

He felt Quentin's weight on the bed again, then the man embraced him hesitantly from behind, his cheek pressed to Daken's shoulder. He was trying to  _comfort_ Daken and Daken was discussing if to keep betraying him or not. Not  _really_ , because there was no video – no betrayal possible. But he was still debating whether to keep  _lying_ about this. Quentin didn't deserve this shit – this  _shit_ that was Daken's life –

“Otousan,” Maiko said softly. “It was _you_ that proposed coming clean to the X-Men in the first place. You said that they would be more likely to help us upon knowing the truth, more receptive. That they would see that Eike is _not_ his – his _mother_ and – that they would help us.”

“Yes.”

“Can't we trust them?”

“Yes. Yes, we can. But Maiko, what if –”

“I _choose_ to believe that. Me – and Eike – we _choose_ to believe that. We choose to believe that we can _trust_ the X-Men.”

“You reasoning is _clouded_ by the fact that you want to do me a _favor_. I can't let you jeopardize your plans.”

“But _you_ jeopardized them already, otousan,” Maiko said softly, so softly, and he felt as if she'd slapped him. She was right. He _had_ jeopardized their plans, because he hadn't wanted them to exploit Quentin – “If you'd trusted me, otousan, if you'd... trusted me and Eike, if you'd told us that Phoenix was _off limits_ – we'd have worked with a better picture. It was my fault, because I was blinded by worry, I didn't realize – you lay on that hospital bed, just out of a coma, and you defended Phoenix, even if he had put you on that bed in the first place.”

“Maiko, I'm sorry –”

“No. Don't be. I love you, otousan. I understand that you tried to balance everything out, that you did it for us, but _you didn't have to._ We wouldn't dream of asking anything like that of you. You did so much for us.”

“I didn't – I failed you, I –”

“Stop,” Maiko said, still so calm and soft. “You didn't. You never failed us. Never. We don't _want_ you to use someone you obviously care about for us.”

“I –”

“Do you _care_ about him? About Phoenix?”

“Yes,” he exhaled, his free hand coming up to cover Quentin's. “God, yes. Maiko, I'm –”

“Okay. Then it's settled. Tell him and the X-Men that the video is gone. What you choose to do next – well, that's _not_ our business. But I hope you act on it, otousan. We hope you will.”

He had  _already_ . She didn't see the whole picture, he was lying to her – he was keeping things from his daughter. “Maiko –”

“I know. I'm amazing.”

Daken snorted. “You are. You know I love you, right?”

“Of course.” There was a waver in Maiko's voice.

“But dearest, I –”

“You are terribly stubborn, otousan. Have some faith in us –” a waver again. “In _you_.”

What had he done to deserve her? What had he ever done to deserve her wisdom and love, to deserve his children's understanding? He'd failed them, he'd made a mess – he'd failed Eike, he'd failed nem so much – and still they loved him, and they were willing to renounce to a useful weapon for him. He asked himself what did they think would happen – did they think that Quentin would throw himself into his arms if Daken were to tell him the truth and then make a move? Well, they didn't know the whole picture either. He asked himself how could they react, were they to discover his past with Quentin. Would they have had Quentin's own doubts about this? Daken had no doubt anymore, not on this. He'd always known something in his brain made him turn towards Quentin as the moth would turn to the fire – but that analogy was corrupt and ugly, did a disservice to Quentin, lowered him to a level he would never touch. Quentin burned, yes, he burned so bright – but he would never burn Daken.

“Otousan?”

“Yes.” Daken lightly caressed the back of Quentin's hand. “Thanks for calling me, dearest. I'll inform the X-Men of the news on your end. Is Eike there?”

“Of course.” She didn't insist further – she'd probably heard something in his voice.

His conversation with Eike was shorter – he spoke as softly as his sister had, and talked lightly about Madripoor and Grey's presence – he was pissed at her for aiding Blaire's stunt, but he was also shaken by the horror that had happened at the White House and agreed with Maiko on their need to keep Grey safe.

When the call ended he sat there for a while, Quentin warm and safe behind him, his arms pressed against Daken's stomach, his quiet breathing a blessing. He asked nothing, asked for nothing. He was just there, comforting him with his mere presence, waiting for Daken to say anything.

“Quentin.”

“Mh.” Quentin rubbed gently his face against Daken's shoulder.

“I must confess something.”

Quentin's heart skipped a beat, but he stayed there where he was. “Okay.”

“I lied. To you, and your friends –” Quentin's heart was beating wildly. “I – that video. _Your_ video, it's –” Daken sighed. “It never existed.”

Quentin stiffened and then exhaled: “What?”

“There's no video.” Daken shut his eyes. “We used it – the threat of it – to secure my position here, but we could have never used it because it didn't exist. I'll understand if you'll send me away from the school now.”

“Daken.” Quentin's arms _left_ him – but then Quentin sat beside him. He caught Daken's hand. “I don't understand. I _was_ filmed, because your daughter quoted me.”

“I deleted it.” Daken said. “I deleted it right away, I deleted it that night, I couldn't let them – I didn't want you to face the consequences. I –”

“I settled it quietly,” Quentin murmured. Daken snapped his eyes open.

“What?”

“That's what you said that night. _I settled it quietly._ You helped me. You protected me.” Quentin squeezed his hand. “I – I'm not sure I understand why you are so worried.”

“I _lied_ to you. I _used_ you – I used what happened – and I lied, even now I lied, you _heard_ me. I wanted to keep doing it. Maiko proposed to come clean and I didn't want to.”

“I heard your reasoning, yes. And I told you before – I told you that I _understood_ why you did it. It helped your kids' takeover. But now you tell me that it doesn't even exist – you tell me that you put me _before_ your kids – and you're worried that I won't want to have anything to do with you anymore? How could I?” Quentin spoke fiercely, and Daken turned to look at him, and he was excruciatingly beautiful, his eyes so soft. 

“I _lied_ to you. That's what I do, that's what I _always_ do, and I – I don't want to _pollute_ this, Quentin.”

“But you haven't.” Quentin squeezed his hand again. “It was – let's say for the greater good. I could never expect you not to think of your children first, Daken. I _would_ never.”

Daken inhaled. This was too much. Quentin was too much, his children were too much.  _This_ was too much, this warmth in his chest –

“Hey.” Quentin cupped his cheek. “It's all right. It's gone and it's all right and I – I'm grateful for what you did, Daken. Thank you for telling me.”

Words wouldn't leave his mouth; Daken nodded.

Quentin bit his lower lip. There  _was_ something that was tormenting him. “Tell me,” Daken said quietly. He would face it.

“I – you killed those men _for me_. You sentenced them to death. The men in the bar.”

“Yes.”

Quentin shut his eyes; and his breathing changed, just so. But of course, of  _course_ this would be the thing that would finally wake him up. Not before, and not when they weren't talking – or even before still, when they occasionally met, Daken only a passing presence. Quentin was horrified at the idea of killing people; why would he want to breathe the same air of a killer? “I would –” Quentin broke off, and opened his eyes. He looked at Daken, his eyes aflame. “I would be a hypocrite if I said I didn't think of killing them myself, that night. I wasn't myself, but I  _did_ think that.”

“Quentin –”

“No.” Quentin held up a hand. “I... thank you... for doing that. For taking care of that. Of _me_.” It was obvious it was a strain for him to say so: Daken could hear it in his voice, read it in the stiffness of his shoulders. “But –” _He's going to ask me to restrain from that. He's going to ask me to change for him._ A tiny part of his brain wondered if he _could_ , maybe, for him; another screamed that he wouldn't, that he wouldn't compromise himself for anyone; another was calm with the firm certainty that Quentin would _never_ ask anything of him, would _never_ try to change him. “I don't want to escape my responsibilities. And I don't want you to feel compelled to take care of my problems. Even if I'm grateful you did so.” Quentin smiled. “I'm a big man, I can take care of my problems _myself_. I promise.”

That was worded beautifully. It took Quentin's uneasiness and painted it with another color, but the original hue was visible underneath without having to scratch the paint away, clear for Daken to see. It was delicate and acknowledged Daken intentions. It took into account their different worldviews and attitudes towards the world. It demanded one thing and one simple thing only, and it  _wasn't_ for Daken to change – but simply for him to let  _Quentin_ handle his own problems. Quentin  _got_ him. He just  _did_ , and he wasn't afraid or squeamish, and he would never try to change Daken. He would support him in everything, even in what didn't meet his taste.

It was too good to be true. Quentin was lying to himself. “Are you sure –”

“Mh-mh.” Quentin drew closer, the softest smile on his face. “You know, that was really a considerate gesture.”

“Quentin.” Daken moved away. He wanted to make sure that Quentin understood this. Daken _wasn't_ a former murderer  in search for redemption. “I _kill_ people.”

“Yeah. I noticed.” Quentin looked at him with clear serious eyes. He nodded firmly.

“Are you sure it's not a problem for you?”

“Why? You're about to promise not to do it ever again?” Quentin raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. He didn't seem to be waiting for an answer; he continued: “Do I have a problem with it? Depends.”

Daken's heart sank. Why had he decided to push this much? What a stubborn idiot he was. “On what?”

“On whether _you_ think it _defines_ you.” Quentin placed a hand on Daken's arm, fingers circling soothingly on his skin. “I don't go by absolutes, Daken. To me, that's not all you are. To me, you're a man first. A loving, and loved, father. An assassin, yes. You're true to yourself. You're cruel, but also soft. You're caring. You're strong. I'm not talking about physical strength – you have a mental fortitude. You go on. You encompass _all_ these things. Do _you_ think that a murderer is _all_ that you are?”

Some part of him wanted to say yes. Some part of him wanted to say yes and see what would Quentin do then – if he would stay or walk away. Some part of him wanted to shock Quentin, make him see Daken soaked in blood, make him see only a creature to whom murder was the only reason for living, the hunger for it a compass. Some part of him still wanted to scare Quentin and push Quentin away to protect him.

The rest of him wanted to have Quentin, if only for a little time, if only for  _so little_ time. The rest of him knew, and knew that  _Quentin_ knew, that a murderer  _wasn't_ all that he was; that would put him down to a level he despised, put him with the vermins of the earth. The rest of him knew perfectly well what he was doing: he was looking for excuses; he was testing Quentin; he was digging for loopholes and manipulating and pulling away.

He was tired of that. He was sick of doing that. Sick of games.

“No. That's not all I am.”

Quentin smiled. “Then no,” he got closer, and Daken let him, and he encircled Daken's waist with his arms, pressed a kiss to Daken's shoulder. He looked up at Daken from beneath his eyelashes; there was nothing but honesty in his eyes. “I have no problem with it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ “I –” Eike cleared his throat. “There's no easy way to ask this, but – are you – are you adopted?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is, unfortunately, un-beta'd; feel free to point out any mistake ^^
> 
>  **Warning** for talk of matricide throughout the chapter.

15.

“Mother, make me, make me a big tall tree  
So I can shed my leaves and let it blow through me.  
Mother, make me, make me a big grey cloud  
So I can rain on you things I can't say out loud.”

Florence + the Machine – _Mother_

 

 

Jean Grey sat on a balcony facing east.

Jean Grey _always_ sat on that balcony. She was unapproachable, silent and remote, and she was making many in the tower nervous. So far, she was trusting Maiko with keeping her safe, and she certainly appeared grateful of being provided with a roof and protection and means of communicating with her friends. But she was also making the guards nervous. One could never tell if she was listening or not, her face hidden by the hideous helmet, and she kept her thoughts to herself. Eike was uneasy around her – Grey had been in nir mind, after all, and Eike asked nemself if she'd reported to Blaire and maybe others nir memories of the facility. Added to the woman's supporting Blaire in trying to make a move against otousan, that was all Eike needed to state nir preference for not being around the telepath too much – not the mention the other things the telepath could see, were she to take a look into Eike's mind.

For the same reason, she made Chie nervous, too. Chie had said the woman was far more powerful than her, and was worried she couldn't protect Eike's mind if Grey suddenly decided to take a look.

Maiko took a deep breath and opened the french window to the balcony. “May I join you?”

Grey made no outward sign of having heard her; after some long moments, without turning her head she said: “Please do.”

Maiko walked outside and closed the window behind her. She stood for a while staring down at Grey, who sat cross-legged on the floor. Grey wasn't here for the vista – it was breathtaking, but she couldn't appreciate it. She was probably meditating.

“Ah.” Grey adjusted her clothing, that hung loose about her right shoulder. “Thank you.”

Maiko would _never_ get used to that. It was yet another reason for the uneasiness in the tower: many were chilled by being used as props by Grey for her to be able to see. Who could blame them? And it chilled Maiko to the bone to know that Grey was using her eyes; even knowing that she couldn't possibly read her thoughts, that she could only rely on Maiko's senses, it was terrifying to think that Grey was so terribly close to seeing what had happened in this very tower so little time ago. Maiko wondered what Grey's reaction would be if she discovered the means of Mystique's demise.

Grey waved a hand. “I'd invite you to sit, but I have no chair.”

“That's quite all right. I have no problems with it.” Maiko removed her high heels and sat cross-legged as well, at an acceptable distance from Grey. “It's peaceful here.”

“Mh.” Grey kept her silence after that.

Maiko waited a few minutes. “How are you faring here?”

Grey didn't answer. What did that helmet hide? She'd explained that Phoenix had created it on the spot to prevent her from doing any more damage than she'd already done. She'd assured that they were safe as long as she wore it. Maiko couldn't help but think that Phoenix should have at least left some way for Grey to see – apparently the helmet's eyes were just decorative – and wondered what Grey really thought of the solution. Did she blame Phoenix? Not for the accident; after all she'd confessed it had been her fault – but for this blindness forced upon herself?

And yet, Maiko mused, there hadn't certainly been much time to delve on the mechanics of it; Phoenix must have done all he could, as fast as he could. Maiko wondered if the two of them had faced this conversation yet – or, in truth, _any_ conversation: it wouldn't certainly be easy. Their interaction, filmed for all the world to see, had been terrifying to behold.

When Phoenix had fallen, Maiko remembered very well having held her breath; when Grey had shown signs of instability and the screaming had begun, a sleek horror had taken hold of her – of every single one of those that were monitoring with her and Eike the squad on the field half a world away.

When the video had simply stopped, when the screens had blackened – many had _prayed_.

Thank God it all had resolved quickly. An thank _God_ otousan had managed to stop Phoenix _after_ that – something no one in the world even knew had happened.

Maiko was still asking herself how had she been so blind. Everything had made much more sense when she'd finally uncovered the angle, when she'd realized what was prompting otousan. Once she'd had that information from Laura – once she'd known the foolish self-destructive action otousan had taken – _everything_ had made sense.

She was still shocked by it... by the thought that otousan had such a strong affection for a man that Maiko had never suspected otousan even _knew_ , let alone cared about. Eike was more shocked than her, especially because Phoenix was... well... _young,_ just a few years older than Maiko. Of course, age had never stopped otousan, not really: Maiko recalled very well that, over the years, he'd brought home many people, young and old – and so many years had passed from when he'd stopped doing that, in truth. But _that_ had always been for sex's sake, there had never been anything behind it. She knew that – and she wondered sometimes if it was a thing one should know about one's own father, but their family had never been normal.

But to go to such lengths, to use his own people and resources, to risk his own life? Otousan could have done it only for one of them: for Eike, for Maiko, or for Laura. Otousan had done it for Phoenix: otousan _cared_ about Phoenix. It had been an epiphany, and together with Eike she'd decided to confront him about it, to let him know that they were fine with it. And otousan hadn't denied it; he'd even sounded grateful – kind of _overwhelmed_ , in truth.

She hadn't dared asking otousan anything after that conversation; it wasn't her business. But now, when they talked on the phone, he did sound more relaxed. Regardless of what he had decided to do about Phoenix, it seemed that he was being accepted at the school. According to Laura, the confession that there was no video to be blackmailed with had been met with _incredulity_ and then sheer relief – Laura herself had expressed shock at being lied to from them, and then had sighed and said affectionately “I don't know what I expected from you three” ; and otousan hadn't been invited to leave, but rather welcomed to stay. The X-Men were set on finding what had happened in D.C., and they welcomed Madripoor's cooperation, something they couldn't have had if they threw otousan out. Probably, at this point, to the X-Men it was simply a matter of making a _statement_ to the world, a way to signal that mutants could and _would_ unite and wouldn't be hurt, never again.

“I never really thought you would permit me to stay, you know,” Grey said softly.

Startled, Maiko looked upon the woman; she had begun losing hope that Grey would speak at all. “We had the duty to.”

“I'm a walking timebomb.” Grey cocked her head. “I'm not referring to my powers – this will backlash for you. Politically.”

Maiko emitted a non-committal sound. “Let _us_ worry about that.” It was true; but it was also true that they'd _sworn_ to protect every mutant in difficulty. And the world governments' policy made Maiko's blood boil.

“Still, I hadn't dared hoping this. Not after what we did to you in the Oval Office.”

“This is _politics_ , Grey.” Maiko echoed what Blaire had said then, schooling her tone to be level. “Nothing personal. You knew it, because you came here. You knew a mutant nation was your only chance of survival after what you did. You knew we would have been compelled to take you in.”

“Yes,” Grey conceded. “But you're too idealistic, Arakawa. You can't protect everyone. You'll have to sacrifice me, eventually.”

“I'm not going to.”

Grey snorted. The sound was trapped by the helmet and echoed, taking on a much more ominous tone than probably intended.

“We've received the first _official_ request of handing you over,” Maiko shrugged. Grey stayed perfectly still. “I came to tell you before you heard it from the guards. And to reassure you that we won't do it.”

Grey finally turned her head to face her. She'd probably been avoiding it to avoid looking upon _herself_ : the helmet held a horrid strange snarl. “Arakawa, I mean it. I _would_ understand if you rid yourselves of me.”

“Nonsense.”

“As you said,” Grey cocked her head, “Nothing personal. We'll see how it goes.”

“You sound terribly eager to be taken and torn apart,” Maiko said. “If this was all you wanted, you should have stayed on US soil. But you didn't.”

“I _am_ going to pay for what I did,” Grey said quietly.

“Your crime pales in comparison to what _else_ happened.” Maiko shivered at recalling the blurred images seen on TV as the journalists that were in front of the White House to simply record Blaire's inaugural speech had found themselves filming a _carnage_ instead – monsters... demons?... and so much _blood_. Death. Screams. Where had those _things_ come from? Would the US government take action? Maiko grimaced. Neither she and Eike nor the X-Men were going to sit on their hands and wait. “And you know it.”

Grey nodded.

“We'll protect you for as long as you want to stay with us. If you decide to turn yourself in, we will demand a trial for you. We won't have you lost in the system. We'll make noise. We'll be heard. We won't let them hide you in some facility to be tortured as _punishment_ , or experimented on in the name of science.”

Grey turned her head away. “The longer we wait, the less power you'll have. The President –” she broke off. The Republican candidate, ex member of the US Army Thomas Edmondson, had finally – and unsurprisingly – been appointed by the Congress. Grey resumed, her voice cold: “The President won't let you get away with this. They have a say in the UN, they have _power_.”

“Oh, let the bastard put his foot down all he wants.” Grey was perfectly right. The seat they'd wanted for Madripoor was going farther and farther away as she spoke with Grey. They'd needed it. Madripoor _needed_ it. They'd wanted to secure at least _that_ before leaving Madripoor. Eike needed to get away from there, dammit. Ne needed to _heal_.

Nothing was going as they'd wanted, and Eike risked falling apart and Maiko didn't know what to do. Eike was _set_ on making the island thrive. Maiko agreed. And yet –

How long could this go on before she woke up and realised she _was_ the monster everyone had thought she was? How _long_ could she go on lying to otousan?

“Did they contact you only for that? For me?” Grey asked quietly.

“Of course. For what else? To propose a cooperation?” Maiko said, bitter sarcasm in her voice.

Grey nodded. “I'm sorry, Arakawa. Truly. You'd bet everything on us, hadn't you?”

“We'll find a way,” Maiko clenched her jaw.

“I hope you will.” Grey tilted her head towards the sun; wouldn't the heatened metal cook her face? “This island _works_ , Arakawa. Alison –” she broke off and then resumed, her voice cold once again, “Ali really thought that you could do something good with us. For mutants. Ali believed in you.”

And yet she'd gone and tried to clean the slate even more; if she'd really believed in them, she wouldn't have proposed them to alter their plans and throw otousan in a prison to rot. But Blaire was dead and holding a grudge was pointless, and Grey was offering a branch of olives. “Thank you, Grey.”

“Jean.”

“Jean.” Maiko tilted her head, too, the sun warm on her face. “You can call me Maiko as well.”

Jean Grey cocked her head. “Maiko. Thank –” she trailed off. Maiko furrowed her brows as the woman kept silent; then Jean Grey turned her head towards Maiko. “A telepath is scanning the building.”

“Excuse me?” Maiko looked upon the woman, a shiver running down her spine. If Grey had meant Chie – because of course Chie and her new team of telepaths periodically scanned the building ever since Mystique's attack – she would have said so.

“A telepath. They're –” Grey abruptly went to her feet. “Their sheer power is –” she broke off again; Maiko stood up as well, caught her phone to contact Chie. “It's raw,” Grey spoke softly, “But great. They're new to this. That I took so much time to notice is extraordinary.”

“Yes, I'm happy for their accomplishment.” Maiko brought the phone to her ear. “You think they're a threat? Have they noticed you? Are they alone?” As she spoke, Chie answered her own phone.

“Love?” her voice sounded strained. “I was about to contact you. A telepath is –”

“Yes, I'm with Grey. Can you two pinpoint their position?”

“On it,” Grey said at the same time as Chie, and Maiko waited. What was this, now? What was happening? She doubted it was an attack... why would a telepath – a _mutant_ – attack them? But the world had gone mad, terrible things had happened, and nothing should be taken for granted.

“Alone,” Chie said, and Grey confirmed a second later. “What do you want to do, Maiko?”

There wasn't much to think about; if a telepath in Madripoor was scanning their building, they had to bring them in and interrogate them – assess the possible threat. Was it a sleeping agent? They couldn't possibly have accessed Madripoor _after_ the tightening of the security following the attack on D.C.

But they had to tread carefully. It could be a curious child – Grey had said they appeared to be new at the use of their powers. Maiko bit her lower lip. “Do you have their position?” Chie murmured her assent and Grey nodded. “Okay. We're bringing them in – _quietly_. No scenes. Send a task-force. Chip-users only.”

“Of course,” Chie said, and Maiko opened the window to return inside the building, motioning to Grey in case she wanted to come with Maiko. A second telepath could come in handy.

Grey fell in line behind her after a few seconds of apparent mulling – dammit, the helmet made it impossible to read her.

They headed for one of the conference rooms, where she told Chie to have the men bring the telepath once secured. Chie joined them some time later – she'd left Eike training in the tower's gym, but assured her with her gaze that she was monitoring nem closely. Eike had taken the habit to spend a lot of time in there; ne was trying, ne said, to sharpen nir shapeshifting abilities to a more offensive and wide-ranged approach.

Ne was actively training nemself _not_ to use nir claws; ne was doing it to avoid other _accidents_. What ne was doing to nir claws wasn't enough – ne wanted to make sure of it. Ne wanted to make sure ne wouldn't accidentally harm anyone with nir claws – and so distance was of the essence.

Ne needed to talk to otousan, dammit. Maiko bit the inside of her cheek. It all seemed relatively harmless; it could even be that the physical exercise and focusing all nir efforts on avoiding repeating the same mistake were good ways to deal with nir trauma – and yes, at the moment it _was_ working. But on the _long_ run? Maiko was painfully aware that this couldn't be enough. She needed to try and bring her conversations with Eike on the subject of talking with otousan. She needed to _actively_ try to convince nem. Not in an imposing way, but not subtly either. She had no intention of manipulating Eike into doing anything, she just wished Eike would see on nir own that it would be the best solution for nir own peace of mind too – it _would_ bring more pain, but at least all would be out in the open, dammit –

She was mulling this over and over and it was toxic for her too, but she couldn't even spit out what was eating at her, not now. She yearned to talk to Chie, Chie that was always present and understanding, that got her worries and soothed her pain – but Grey was in the room too, and she had to focus on the matter at hand now; she had to focus on the mysterious telepath.

It was with relief that she reacted when finally the men brought the telepath in. It wasn't a kid – it didn't look like a foreign secret agent either, but it could be a ruse. It was a young, scrawny man – he couldn't possibly be more than twenty years old – and let himself be dragged into the conference room without a sound, a sour expression on his face. He was bald, and there was something about him that nagged at Maiko's mind. Maybe it was the way he held himself? He looked almost familiar.

Jean Grey inhaled sharply, the sound amplified by her helmet, and Maiko schooled her features not to let her perplexity show. Had the woman recognised the youth? The young man turned his head towards Grey at the sound, and narrowed his eyes. Grey waved a hand almost dismissively.

“Good try, but no,” she said. “Not in a long time.”

The youth's face set in a scowl. “You're _Jean Grey_. I saw you on TV.”

“Yes, you and all the world,” she shrugged, but there was tension in her shoulders. Maiko sat and motioned for the guards; they passed her a Madripoor visa taken from the young man: it had been stamped just a few days ago. He'd _apparently_ entered the island legally. Maiko set to call in the examiner who'd interviewed him, then looked up: Chie had come to stand beside Grey; the youth's eyes were fixed on her.

“And you're the one that cloaks the building,” he scowled. Chie cocked her head in assent.

“Kid.” Maiko stood up and set her hands on the table. “What were you trying to do? You thought there wouldn't be _security?_ ”

The young man grimaced. “I didn't – I was just trying –” he fell silent, an almost _moping_ expression on his face. Maiko furrowed her brows.

“You were trying –?”

He clenched his jaw.

“Who sent you, kid?” Chie asked, crossing her arms. “Don't think we take this _lightly_.” He kept his mouth sullenly shut.

“You _don't_ have the experience for this,” Jean Grey said. “Stop trying. You'll get nowhere _near_ my mind today. Nor hers.” She inclined her head towards Chie. Was he trying to attack them?

“Do we need to restrain you?” Maiko said sharply. “Start talking. Why were you scanning the building?”

“Are you in any way affiliated with the attack on Alison Blaire?” Jean Grey demanded, ice in her voice, and there was a tremor in the air around them. Maiko paled at the display of power, not knowing whether it was deliberate or not. Both options were terrifying. “You're a _mutant_. Why are you working with –”

“What?” The youth widened his eyes. “I've got nothing to do with that! Are you crazy, lady?”

“You sneak here, set off for the centre of power, scan it, and now you try to attack us,” Grey enumerated, “What should we think?”

The young man shook emphatically his head. “I wasn't – I didn't want to attack anyone. I've got nothing to do with any of that, Jesus, I just wanted – please. I saw there was a _waiting list!_ ” he cried. “I only want to speak with Mystique, please –”

“Mystique?” Maiko crossed her arms, thinking quickly. It _was_ true that there was a waiting list – many powerful people in the island wanted to speak with “Mystique”, and Eike couldn't possibly see them all; this had been decided well before Mystique showed up; and now, of course, between what had _happened_ and then the attack on D.C., they'd put the visits on hiatus.

But why would a young man, arrived in Madripoor just a few days ago, want to talk with Mystique?

“What do you want with Mystique?”

“It's private,” he said quickly. “Tell her I'm here! She'll talk to me.” But there was no certainty in his voice; instead, he sounded unsure. And there was an aggressiveness in his stance. Did he want to _attack_ “Mystique”? _Was he_ a sleeping agent?

“Private?” Maiko cocked her head. “Let's start from there, and then we'll decide. What kind of business have you with Mystique?”

“I – I don't know. I – my _mother_ had business with her.” A chilling thought hit Maiko then; what if this young man could _tell the difference?_ What if something he said tipped the men off, maybe placing Mystique somewhere _else_ than what they thought at some particular time? If Mystique had been seeing his mother, maybe he'd had _contact_ with her.

Everyone in the tower thought Mystique had died eight years ago. So far, their people could believe that the youth was talking about _Eike_ . But if he were to start talking about meeting her any further than some _months_ ago, it would backfire.

Maiko made her decision. “Leave us,” she said, and the men dropped the kid on a seat and took off, thankfully; and left the four of them alone in the conference room.

Maiko threw a glance at Chie and Grey. What would have she done to be in telepathic contact with them! She trusted Chie had followed her same line of reasoning; but Grey must be wondering what the hell was happening –

The young man spoke before she could say anything. “Look, I only want to talk to her. Please. I know I made a mess! I didn't know how else to approach her. I'm not a _terrorist_ , I swear.” He was looking upong Grey with something akin to sheer terror. And he was right in being afraid; if the woman were ever to be able to put her hands on those who had attacked the White House, that would have been a sight to behold _at a safe distance._ “If you tell her my name, she'll come. For sure.”

Maiko looked upon the documents in front of her. “Charles Smith? Is this your real name?”

“Uh-huh.”

Grey inhaled sharply. “Maiko? What is the meaning of this? Don't you know this kid?”

“Mystique _doesn't_ tell me all she does, Gr- Jean.” They had established to use their first names, after all. It conveyed familiarity; it could sway Grey more easily. But the woman wasn't _stupid_. In front of her, Maiko could only pretend that maybe Eike had been up to something on nir own, without Maiko's knowledge –

This was getting even more entangled by the minute, dammit. It was going to blow in their faces.

Grey cocked her head. “You _really_ don't know him?” There was something strange afoot here. Did Grey know the kid? She'd reacted strangely when he'd been escorted in –

“No.” Maiko squared her shoulders. “Chie? Could you please tell Mystique to come here?”

“Of course.” Chie subtly positioned herself closer to her.

“Good. And –” Maiko hesitated, but it would be best for Grey not to be present. “Jean. Thank you, but I think we can manage from here.”

“No, you can't.” Grey's tone was quite final and serene. Glancing up at Chie, Maiko saw her grimace just slightly and nod down at her. Was the young man really such a powerful telepath that Chie worried she couldn't be able to keep up the walls around Eike's mind? But dammit, Grey being present would mean her realising they had no idea who the youth was and then wondering who he was talking about, if not Eike. Mystique's reappearance and death would backfire, she'd always feared that – and it appeared it was happening right now.

But maybe, if it came to that, Grey could be convinced not to talk? She'd said that she thought good things of Madripoor; she wouldn't jeopardise its situation.

“Suit yourself,” Maiko shrugged then, feigning a calmness she didn't feel. This was it. Everything was going to backfire horribly, and she had to be able to pick up the pieces. She had to stay calm and collected, she had to reason coldly. Show a firm façade to Grey, make sure she would hear from them what had happened with Mystique, if it came to that. Damage control: she was capable of that. She'd been trained by the _best_.

Otousan. They needed to _tell_ him what had been happening in the tower.

Eike came through the doors wearing Mystique's aspect – ne cocked nir head curiously at the youth, nostrils flaring just slightly. As if he'd sensed nem, the youth wriggled in his seat to turn and look at nem.

“Charles?” Eike smiled. Maiko wondered how ne was managing to smile while wearing nir mother's face. “Here I am. What can I do for you?” It was good, neutral enough not to show that ne had no _clue_ of who he was –

“I wanted to thank you,” said the youth in a strained voice.

“Yes? Well, you're welcome, of course.” Eike took a few steps into the room, looking benevolently upon the young man, who sat very rigidly. Maiko was hit by a sudden foreboding sense of dread.

“I wanted to _thank_ you,” the youth said through gritted teeth, fists closing, and Eike stopped walking, an alarmed expression on nir face, and Maiko stood up but it was too late, it would be too late – “for _ruining my life_.”

Chie shrieked and Eike dropped like a stone.

 

* * *

 

The scent, Eike thought upon entering; there was a scent whose origin she couldn't quite place, but that she knew.

She saw the bald young man at the table. She saw Maiko, and Chie, and Grey. But that scent was at the forefront of her mind. She approached, and greeted baldie, and she hoped that she would manage to pry everything from him without betraying anything, but that scent, that _scent_ –

It was on the tip of her tongue, she could smell it right there, she could _tell_ she knew it.

Closer, and closer, and words were easy, this would be easy. They only needed to understand what had he to do with mother. Closer, and closer – and baldie radiated _danger_. Eike stopped dead in her tracks...

And then she was assaulted with fury and maliciousness, slick fingers parting her brain as if a child were splashing butter, and Chie was nowhere, nowhere, nowhere. Chie was nowhere, and Eike's mind was a playground for a presence that knew no subtlety, a presence that was roaring with anger, trashing feet like a child throwing a tantrum, opening doors that ought to stay closed.

Eike

was pinned down under a weight with sharp teeth and cruel eyes,

was being rocked to sleep by papa,

was covered in the blood of a beast,

was playing with Maiko with shrill childish cries of delight,

was being gutted like a fish by scary men in white,

was being tickled by auntie at home,

was laying in his bed and hearing broken sobs coming from papa's room,

was looking down at mama mama mama

was hating mama mama mama

was killing mama mama mama –

 _Fuck_ , the presence stilled, _shit, fuck, sorry_ , the presence stuttered, and tried to get away, but Eike was everywhere, leaking through in the darkness, and the presence tried to leave but couldn't. _Shit shit shit_ , it said, finding itself covered in blood too, its feet unable to move, its hands tended towards Eike. _I'm sorry, I swear, I'm sorry, come on, it's all right, I'll leave, I promise – don't cry, okay, I'll – shit. I don't know how to do this!_ It frantically turned its head to find a way out as Eike wailed cold and alone in that horrible place, as Eike burned with hatred for the woman who'd tried to kill Maiko, for the woman who had decided to leave.

Then it was warm, and bright, and there was a soft lady in Eike's mind, a lady that took the presence by its hands, speaking gently: _follow me._

Eike opened her eyes. She lay prone, she realised, and quickly got to her hands and knees and looked up. Maiko knelt beside her, her face white with worry, and she exhaled with relief when Eike smiled at her. In truth, Eike felt like throwing up; she felt like her mind had just been trashed and then reassambled back together, and a horrible nausea was at the back of her throat. But it was gone, it was passed; and she was fine. She felt fine. Everything was fine.

“Chie?” Eike asked feebly, and Maiko's face darkened. She turned her head, and Eike followed her gaze to see Chie collapsed on the chair on which Maiko had been sitting when Eike had entered. She was pale, unconscious – but she appeared fine.

Eike's gaze was attracted by the other two occupants of the room. Baldie was sitting on the floor, vacant eyes fixed on Eike; he didn't react in any way when Eike's eyes met his. Grey knelt beside him, a hand on his arm. She was probably the warm soft lady that had chased the darkness away from Eike's mind – and that, apparently, had helped baldie get out.

Eike stiffened. Baldie had _seen_ her kill mother. Amongst other things.

Maiko had felt her go rigid; she turned to look at the duo in front of them as well. They stared upon the two telepaths for a while; they were still as statues.

“What are you doing to him?” asked Maiko eventually.

Grey didn't move. “I'm helping him focus back to himself. He charged in with no subtlety – he'd almost lost himself in Eike's mind.” She cocked her head just slightly. “Are you all right, Eike?”

“Uh-huh.” She tried to get up, but stumbled; Maiko caught her.

“Don't move yet, you should be a bit light-headed still,” Grey said. “He picked at festering wounds with horrible precision, despite his untrained brutality. He'll become quite unstoppable –”

“ _Grey_.” Maiko's voice was sharp. “Did you _let him_ attack?”

Eike jumped at that; but surely it wasn't possible – was it?

“Don't be ridiculous. He took me by surprise. Your woman will confirm it.”

“I'm asking _you_.” Maiko had an arm protectively held in front of Eike, the other twisted just so that, Eike knew, her blade could fall in her hand.

Grey turned her head towards them. “He took me by surprise,” she repeated. She didn't smell like she was lying. “He put all his might in that attack, despite knowing that he was surrounded and that there were _two_ trained telepaths who could stop him. He must hate Mystique very much.” She cocked her head. “Mind telling me what's happening here, Maiko? What did you do to him? Or –” she trailed off, “ _Easy_ , boy,” she said softly as baldie appeared to regain consciousness, eyes blinking slowly.

He stared right at Eike.

He paled.

“Oh, Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –”

“Bit too late for that, boy,” snarled Maiko, her voice crisp and dangerous, cold with fury. Eike tightened her fingers around Maiko's arm, drummed _danger_ on the floor with her other hand. Maiko's breathing changed just so, telling Eike that she'd heard her.

Baldie seemed incapable of looking away from Eike. “What have they _done_ to you?” he asked, sheer horror in his voice; maybe he'd only seen the facility and the animal? Could it be they had been so lucky that he hadn't seen mother's death? But he now probably _knew_ that Eike was posing as mother –

Eike shrugged. “Oh you know, the usual. A tug here, a nip there.”

“That was _horrible_ –”

“Funny that you worry _now_ ,” Maiko snapped. She was furious. “You _made_ nem relive that. _You_ did.”

Baldie winced. “I didn't want that. If I'd known that she _wasn't_ Mystique, I would have _never_ done that.”

Nice of him.

But that didn't change the fact that he _knew_ that mother wasn't around. Had he seen the rest?

Should – should they kill him?

What was Grey making of this conversation, Eike wondered? Was she doing some math?

And what had mother _done_ that he had been so hell-bent on making her suffer? Nothing could surprise Eike anymore, not after being left like that by mother _for her plans_ , not after her trying to _kill Maiko_ . Not after digging up the monstrous _hypocrite_ mother had been.

“Kid,” Grey said softly. “I understand you must be quite angry. Tell us; I don't know if we can remedy to what Mystique did, but I promise you we will do our best. Right, Maiko?”

“Yes,” Maiko said evenly, “Of course.”

“And you'll let me remove the memory of today from you,” Grey said, always so softly. Eike started, surprised, together with Maiko; and baldie hastily moved away from Grey, looking at her wide-eyed. “I could do it without your notice, but I'm asking your permission. Have you seen what are they doing here? It's important. For us. For mutants. Did you see what happened in Washington?” Baldie nodded stiffly. “We can't let you go around. Not with this information in your head. Do you understand?”

“You _aren't_ going to arrest me?” Baldie widened his eyes. Grey shouldn't be doing this, she had no authority here; they should talk about it among them and then decide – he'd just attacked with the intent to hurt very badly who he'd thought was “Mystique” – but it been in retaliation for something... And apparently, he'd been on his own – _should_ they let him go? _What_ had mother done to him? “Can I stay here?” baldie said quickly, “Will you let me?”

“In Madripoor?” Grey cocked her head, turned it towards Maiko. “I don't know. Maiko?”

“Why?” asked Maiko. “Why do you want to stay?”

“I – I have nowhere else to go.” Baldie lowered his head. “I thought I'd have done what I'd come to do and that then you'd have thrown me in some prison or lynched me or killed me anyway. Might as well stay here.”

He had _nowhere else to go?_ Eike felt her blood run cold. What the _hell_ had mother done to him?

Grey turned her head towards baldie again. Could she see herself from his eyes or was she using Maiko's? “What happened?” she asked softly.

“I –” baldie looked to the side. “It's always been me and my mum. Dad... dad died when I was little, like, two. She's always taken care of me, I... When I was ten I fell ill. And after – I had to take these pills, every day, or I would have attacks. Not that I remembered, but mum said to take the pills, so I took the pills.” He grimaced. Eike felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. It was obvious to her what the pills really were for. “But I wasn't _sick_. I had no _illness_. Mum was _drugging_ me.” He shut his eyes. “I missed one pill – just _one_. And suddenly – suddenly there was so much chaos in my head, I could hear everything, everything around me, so many voices. They were thoughts, but I didn't know that... they were just so much. And –” He looked up at Grey. “And mum came home, and I was suffering so much, all those thoughts jumbled in my head; there were hers too, and she was thinking about _drugging_ me, she was thinking about those pills, she was trying to remember the dosage to _cut my powers off_ _again_ – and –” he sniffed, and Eike slapped a hand over her mouth; she knew the words that baldie was about to say. “and I don't know, something snapped, and next I knew she was down. A stroke. I think.” Grey moved slowly towards him; he backed away. “Don't _touch_ me.”

“Okay.” Grey held her hands up.

“I killed my mum.”

“It was an accident,” Grey said softly. Jesus. Eike knew what he was going through. She knew perfectly well. Baldie was hating himself, and hating his mother at the same time. “You can't blame yourself.” Meanwhile, Grey was having a really strange, sort-of-maternal soft approach to him.

“I know,” baldie said in a detached tone. He clenched his jaw. “So. Uh. I ran away. I looked through the house and I opened her bank account and there was a lot of money, and I found out there was _no prescription_ for my pills, and I found the doctor who _passed_ her the pills and I asked him, and he wouldn't tell, so then I asked him _better_ , and he was very _talkative_ after that,” he grimaced a really vicious smile, “I'm learning. I'm making a mess, but I'm learning.”

“That's apparent,” said Grey calmly. “Is he alive?”

“You know, he gave blockers to a kid. I'm new to this whole mutant experience, but I think that's very unethical.”

“Is he _alive?_ ”

“He's still breathing,” baldie spat. “Which is more than he deserves. He won't be able to stand anymore, though.” Ah, he'd gone on a vengeful rampage. Grey sounded mildly worried by his lack of restraint, but Eike couldn't really blame him.

Eike grimaced. This story was horrible, and what was he about to say about _mother?_ What had mother to do with a human parent blocking her child's mutant powers?

“Turns out that when I was a kid I did have an episode, that is, my powers manifested, but I don't remember that. And mum was panicked, and this lady showed up out of nowhere, and she told her what to do. She told mum that it would get worse, and that mum should drug me. And gave her a lot of money, and to the doctor, too, and put her and the doctor in contact, and she kept checking in with the doctor, to be sure I was still taking the pills. And if I ever went to the doctor with questions, he wasn't to say _anything_ about her. Only about mum. I don't know what the _fuck_ did she want with me,” he spat, “but you can _bet_ she was paving the way to play concerned and drag me into something. I don't know, like... show up and save me from the horrible abusive human, maybe.”

“And you think it was Mystique,” Grey murmured. Eike felt frozen in place, unable to move or speak; Maiko had placed an arm around her, was trying to comfort her somehow; but Eike couldn't really elaborate anything else save for the fact that mother had done this to a fellow mutant. Had schemed to ruin a _kid's_ life and turn him against his own mother.

“Fuck, I _know_ it was her.” Baldie's face contorted in a snarl. “I hacked the security cameras from the last time she went to see the doctor – well, some _friends_ helped me because I _asked_ them so nicely – and we followed her through the various cameras on the streets, and she changed once, and twice, and thrice, a lot of times – but we always managed to follow, and then she went blue for a second. And I recognised her from TV, of course. Well. I guess the one on TV was you.” He threw a mortified glance at Eike. It occurred to Eike that it had been for some time that they'd been talking of her and mother as two distinct entities; and while that wasn't a problem as long as baldie talked about when he was a kid, now they were talking about closer times, maybe something that had happened this very year; that betrayed that mother had been alive recently. She still couldn't tell if baldie had seen or even could recall mother's death, but Grey now knew that mother hadn't died that day of eight years ago, and could surmise that Maiko and Eike had known as well. What should they do now? Should Eike pretend it had been herself that baldie had seen on those cameras? “I'm – sorry, Schli-Schlingel? Is it?” baldie's mouth tried to pronounce the German, but failed utterly –

Oh. He'd heard. He'd seen mother call her that.

“Eike,” she said quietly, and turned into himself, because this was becoming unbearable. He couldn't keep talking to baldie while wearing mother's face. Mother had wronged him too much, and the cat was out of the bag anyway.

“Eike.” Baldie sniffed. “Yeah. I'm sorry. I mean, you _know_ I would have wanted to hurt her so you obviously won't believe me. And I'm _not_ sorry she's dead.” He shook his head; Maiko inhaled sharply, opened her mouth to probably tear him apart, but Eike held up a hand to stop her. Grey was listening in quietly; she was probably confused as to the timelines now. They would have to explain everything to her later, probably. Baldie continued: “I'm not going to _lie_ about that.”

Eike emitted a choked snort. Fuck, this was absurd. Here he was, this fucker was saying he was _glad_ mother was dead, and Eike didn't even feel angry about that. How could he feel angry about that? Baldie was perfectly justified. “Thank you. Appreciate the honesty.” Maiko was holding her breath. Eike wouldn't know how to explain, but he felt a sort of affinity for this asshole. “I would have smelt you lie anyway.”

“Cool.” Baldie sniffled. “I – I'm sorry about _how_ she died. I'm sorry for _you_. I guess – I guess I get what you feel? It was an _accident_.”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn't _really_ my fault –”

“I didn't do it on _purpose_.”

“And yet you feel that – that hole in your stomach, that –”

“– that incredulity.”

“How _could_ she?”

“Yeah. I thought –”

“– she loved me.”

They looked upon each other. What a freaking miserable bonding experience: they were both matricides. Eike snorted – and before he could realise what he was doing, he was _laughing_ , a horrible hysterical fit which left Maiko speechless and stiff beside him, her heartbeat hammering in his ears; then he heard an echo of his laughter... but it wasn't an echo. It was baldie in front of him, baldie laughing just as hysterically, face contorted in a grimace of utter pain Eike knew well, tears streaming down his face.

Grey was very rigid, just as Maiko, and it somehow made the whole thing even _more_ hysterical. They'd just talked about mother's _death_ . They'd just all but _said_ that Eike had killed her. They were _fucked_ . Oh, they were freaking _fucked_ . His laughter intensified and now he was crying, too, and he snapped a hand on his mouth to stifle the sound. He had to keep it together – he had to calm down. He was scaring Maiko, she was probably worried sick about him. He was fine. He _was_.

Eike managed to stop his attack – but baldie went on, tears now running freely down his face, and he was rocking back and forth; and Grey was trying to get closer to him, to _get_ to him, calm him down, somehow... but he kept moving away; and he snarled at her among the tears: “Stay _the fuck_ out of my mind.”

Eike ignored Maiko's arms around him and moved. He wanted... God, he didn't know why he felt so _close_ to him – just their shared crime? – but he ached to comfort baldie somehow. So he dragged himself on the floor, covered the short distance between them and lay hesitantly a hand over baldie's arm; baldie didn't move away. “Hey. It's fine. It's going to be all right – I promise. You can stay, we won't do anything to you.”

“It's _not_ going to be all right,” baldie choked out amidst the tears.

“It is. Come on.” And Eike didn't know what compelled it, but he found himself wrapping his arms around baldie, who surprisingly responded, hiding his face on Eike's chest, his hands grasping spasmodically at Eike's back. Eike patted baldie's head, and sniffed to get rid of the residual mucus in his nose.

And he froze.

Across the room, Maiko realised immediately that something was wrong. “Eike?”

“No way in _hell_ , fuck,” was the only thing Eike managed to snarl. He couldn't believe – no. His nose was wrong. He was sensing things that weren't there.

But he'd sensed it _immediately_ . His senses had reacted well before his brain. He'd _known_ he knew this scent.

He hadn't recognised it right away because he'd never smelt this particular blend. But one of its components had once been close and dear to his heart, and he'd smelt it recently. He could have never mistaken it.

And that brought a layer of even more fucked-upness to what mother had done to baldie – no, to _Charles_ . Eike clenched his teeth. He'd _never_ known mother. Not really.

He was – he was _glad_ he'd stopped her. _Yes_.

Christ, but how could he say what he'd just realised? He didn't want to keep it from Maiko – nor from Charles. Dammit, Charles _deserved_ to know.

Charles was still sniffling, but had noticed that Eike had tensed; and so he extricated himself from Eike and looked up at him. God. Now Eike could even _see it_ in the curve of Charles' nose.

“I –” Eike cleared his throat. “There's no easy way to ask this, but... are you... are you adopted?”

Charles' eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“And – fuck.” Eike bit his lower lip. “You ever known who your real parents were?” Charles furrowed his brows – and beside the two of them, Grey's heartbeat was accelerating. She'd probably realised what Eike was trying to say... Behind them, Maiko's breath caught in her throat, too. And even Chie was waking up, just in time for the grand finale of this ridiculous family drama.

“My _real_ parents were my mum and dad,” Charles said coolly.

“Yes, sorry.” Eike winced. “Of course. I didn't mean to imply that. I meant... your _biological_ parents.”

Charles shook his head stiffly and dried his tears with the back of a hand. “Why?”

“Because – _please_ , don't freak out. You... kind of smell of _my_ mother.”

To his credit, Charles _didn't_ freak out _._

He merely stared at Eike. He stared long and hard, wide-eyed and pale, and then touched Eike's mind hesitantly, with great care. Then Eike felt Chie begin to erect walls around his mind again, and Charles retreated _immediately_ , his gaze running to the woman with a look of sincere apology on his eyes. “Sorry for earlier, ma'am,” he said quietly, and he smelt contrite enough. Jesus, this scent. It was unmistakable now. How had Eike taken _so much_ to recognise it?

Chie inhaled sharply, as if she were about to say something really vicious, but Maiko was walking over to her, and Grey went to her feet and said: “I think we can cut him some slack.”

Maiko was speaking softly now, fussing over Chie, and together with Grey they were explaining quickly the things Charles had said; and Charles returned his attention to Eike.

“I smell of your _mother_? Of Mystique? You think – you think I –” he swallowed.

“I think you may be my – my half-brother.” Eike winced. How could have mother done such a thing? _How?_ “Yes.”

“That's insane.”

“I know. I – We should do a DNA test. I mean, if – only if you're willing.”

“That's _insane_.” Charles repeated, and grimaced. “Only of your mum? Not of your dad?”

“Just my mother.” He was sure of that. Charles didn't smell of father – nor of the animal.

“ _Insane_. She _abandoned_ me. And then she – the fucking scheming bi–” Charles widened his eyes. “ _Jesus_. Sorry.”

“It's all right. Fuck, you know what, insult her all you _want_ ,” Eike spat. “I don't fucking _care_.” He caught Charles' hands. “I'm glad I spared you her games, Charles. I'm so sorry that she managed to fuck you and your mum up –”

“It's – all right.” Charles squeezed his hands. “Yes. I – I want to do that test.”

They looked away from one another and at the trio looking upon them. Maiko was pale with worry. But she shouldn't be. Charles was _family_. “Maiko? You think we can ask doctor Broo?” At her nod, Eike turned again to Charles. “He's one of the X-Men. He's a good doctor, you'll like him.” And he was the only one who knew of Eike's parentage and wouldn't react at the double helix of DNA.

“And he'll tell me who my biological father is, too?”

“Don't know.” Eike shrugged. “But we'll help you find him, if you want. I'll help you. Me and my papa and Maiko and my aunt – we'll help you.”

Jean Grey cleared her throat; they turned to look at her. “I should tell you, as the X-Men will have a fit when they see you. You look very much like a person that was important to all of us –”

“ _Was?_ ” Charles' heart skipped a beat.

“Yes.” Grey crossed her arms. “He's – well, he's dead. I don't know how, or even _if_ , you're related, but he was a powerful telepath, too. It seems likely to me. I'm sorry, boy,” she added, because Charles had lowered his head. “If it turns out you are related, I will tell you about him. If you want me to.”

“You knew him well?”

“Well. I fear – I fear none of us ever knew him that well.” Grey shook her head. “But he changed our lives, for better and for worse. He taught me how to control my powers,” she said softly. “I'll teach you, if you want.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ “Quentin,” Daken breathed, and he tugged gently at Quentin's hair. “No.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Sexytimes. More angst. Bad jokes. Did I mention angst? My inner philologist shows up. Angst again. Enjoy! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still with no beta! D: So, the usual disclaimer: I apologize for any mistakes you might encounter; feel free to point them out to me.

16.

“Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers:  
starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters –  
The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress  
(until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest).  
The saints can't help me now, my ropes have been unbound...  
I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallow'd ground.”

Florence + the Machine – _Howl_

 

 

“Your kid was _sniffing_ at me.”

“Was ne?” Daken threw Quentin a glance over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised, and then returned his attention to Quentin's bookshelf.

Quentin crossed his arms and leant against the door. The little group from Madripoor had left just a hour ago, and he and Daken had decided to retreat to Quentin's room shortly after dinner. “ _Sniffing_.”

“It must have been a terrible experience.” Daken hummed softly as his fingers browsed the books on the top shelf. “Did ne say anything?”

Quentin bit his lower lip. _'If you harm my father_ again', Eike had said very quietly, a polite smile on his face, _'I will end you. I don't care if you're the freaking king of the universe'._ Then he'd stalked off and reached his half-brother and Broo. Daken had been talking with his daughter and the telepath, Chie; that was probably why he hadn't noticed – or rather, Eike must have chosen that moment for the exact purpose of not being heard by his father.

Learning that those scars on Daken's face had been procured by the Phoenix – and so, by proxy, by _Quentin_ – had really angered the kid.

“I'll take your silence as a yes.”

Quentin cleared his throat. “I was given _the shovel talk_ by a _teenager_.”

Daken's hand hesitated over a book; he resumed his search a second later. “I'm sorry you had to endure such a hardship,” he began, a playful lilt to his voice. “I can't imagine what that's _like_.”

Quentin winced. “Oh, come on –”

“I can't imagine being ambushed in a corridor by a midget and being pointed at and threatened _in graphic detail_ over a possibility that doesn't even exist in my mind by someone that thinks that the other party can't take care of himself.” Daken cocked his head. “Oh, wait.”

“Idie was just taken by surprise.” As _everyone_ in the Danger Room – Quentin included – when Daken had grabbed him at the end of the first combat session after D.C... and had proceeded to kiss him quite thoroughly.

Daken had the habit of kissing him wherever they were, at any given time – so much so that Quentin still wondered _how_ he'd managed to leave Daken's room that first day – but that had been the first time they'd kissed in public. There had been no way to dismiss quietly that they'd worked everything out – hell, the change in dynamics had been too manifest for the other X-Men not to notice, and _apparently_ Daken had been very emotional after stopping the Phoenix, so it wasn't as if Daken had been hiding his affection. But still – it had been sudden and pretty passionate. He hadn't expected Daken to be so transparent.

Not that Quentin was complaining.

Of course, then he'd heard Broo mutter “ _Oh, thank God”_ under his breath – truly embarrassing, that –

Daken had laughed so freely at hearing the remark, Quentin recalled fondly.

And then Idie had gone and threatened Daken, as if Quentin were a teenager in need of a tutor and not a thirty-six-years-old man. Still, he understood Idie's worry – she'd seen how devastated he'd been after Tokyo, even if she still didn't know exactly what had transpired; it was only natural for her to be all motherly and protective. Besides, Laura had done pretty much the same to Quentin – only limiting herself to press her lips together and giving him pointed glances from time to time.

“I know.” Daken's quiet murmur shook him from his thoughts; Daken caught the book he'd been looking for. “ _Genji monogatari_ ,” he read on the cover, and after flipping through a few pages he looked up at Quentin in plain shock. “You _did_ read it in Japanese.”

“I _told_ you.” Quentin couldn't help it: a smug smile tugged at his lips.

“I thought you were _joking_.”

“Yes. I wanted to impress you and your daughter with a lie that would have been painfully embarrassing and pretty easy to expose.”

Daken clicked his tongue. “What an _attitude_ .” He put the massive book back on the shelf, fingers running over the spines of those closer. “And there's _poetry_ , too.” He hummed appreciatively. “You're full of surprises, Quentin. How much time did it take you to master your reading skills?”

“Oh, a good number of years, don't worry.”

“Quite a feat, all the same.” Daken's hand stopped on a particular volume; his fingers caressed hesitantly the spine, then he took it delicately, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world. “ _Ogura Hyakunin Isshu_?” his voice shook almost imperceptibly, and he turned to look at Quentin. Quentin knew those poems were important to Daken – he would be a fool to pretend otherwise.

“Yeah. They stuck with me, you know, for years after you went away...” he trailed off; Daken had opened the book, and was simply caressing the pages. “They're very beautiful,” Quentin said softly.

“They are.” Daken placed his palm on a page. “I – I used to chant the poems to Eike, when ne wouldn't sleep. And then _after_ –” he shut his eyes as his features crumbled.

Quentin walked over to him immediately. “Hey.” He cupped Daken's cheek and Daken opened his eyes and leant on the bookshelf, the book still open in his hands. Being looked upon like that by Daken, with such softness and a hint of something else behind, always made Quentin's chest ache. He passed lightly his fingers over Daken's mostly healed skin – on his left cheek there was still a faint scar that refused to heal – and Daken tilted his head and leant into the touch. “You're worried about your kid.” It wasn't a question. It couldn't possibly be a question. Apparently, Eike was dodging any attempt Daken made to talk about the recent terrible revelations. Daken had accepted that, and was waiting for the kid to reach out – but now there was this strange new secret come out of nowhere. Mystique had given birth to another kid – and then had _abandoned_ said child.

Charles' paternity was still unknown – Broo's results were yet to come out – but the way he looked, the way he held himself, his powers... It had been like seeing _Xavier_ revived in front of them, and if Jean hadn't warned Jubilation in advance of what they would have found in front of themselves when the little group from Madripoor arrived, the X-Men would have had a fit.

God, _Jean_ . She hadn't joined them, preferring to stay in Madripoor. Quentin wondered if she _hated_ him; she never addressed him when she called the school and he happened to be in the room. And who could blame her? He'd basically taken her eyesight away from her... and he'd given her the most ominous gift, an helmet whose alikeness to _Xorn's_ was eerie and disturbing –

“Other secrets,” Daken muttered. “Eike must be wondering already if Mystique _knew_ nir true parentage.” He grimaced. “Do you have any idea of what _that_ doubt must do to nem?”

“I can't imagine.” It could only bring about the horrid certainty that surely Creed would have never sold his own child – not to speak of the _other_ things he'd done – had he _known_. The horrid certainty that Eike could have _avoided_ that much pain.

“And now this. She abandoned that boy. And the other things she set in motion for him are simply horrific. Ne's always had this _idea_ of Mystique – as if she were a saint – and this? This collides with that.”

“Putting your parents on a pedestal is dangerous,” Quentin said quietly. “Your risk being hit hard.”

Daken winced, then glanced curiously up at him.

Quentin moved gently his fingers over Daken's cheek. “You must have heard of my first royal screw-up. I made such grand speeches and hurt so many people. I was a stupid thirteen-years-old.”

“I may have heard.” Daken turned his head to press a kiss to Quentin's palm. “You started a riot at this school. Someone died,” he added softly.

“Yeah. Sophie.” One of the Cuckoos; she'd died to _stop_ his stupid riot. Quentin grimaced at the memory of Emma Frost carrying Sophie's dead body in her arms. Foolish has he had been at the time, he'd even tried to _revive_ her. Not that it had worked out well: actions had consequences, and that was a lesson he'd learnt the hard way. “Thing is, I'm not going to justify anything I did those days, because it was a cry for attention masked as a riot against authority. But it all boiled down to my parents falling off their pedestals. Falling _hard_.” Daken seemed lost in thought; Quentin continued: “Better now than later. Ne has a safety net – your daughter takes care of nem. Ne'll work this out.”

“Ne's going through _too much_.” Daken clenched his jaw. “That, and damn clones, and now a brother who I'd _understand_ if he had a vendetta –”

“I don't think he's going to hurt Eike.” The two half-siblings had seemed close enough already; it probably helped that they were of almost the same age.

“Well, for what reason do you think he went to Madripoor? I didn't buy Eike's ' _we chanced upon each other and he smelt like mama'_. They were trying to hide something. You think the boy wouldn't have gone to Madripoor to face his mother, after all he went through? He probably _attacked_ Eike.”

“And... if he did?” Quentin said slowly, and bit his lower lip when Daken cocked an eyebrow at him. “I mean... they obviously worked it out on their own. No one got hurt; maybe your kids didn't want you to worry.”

“And so they _lied_ to me?” Daken closed the book in his hands. “I deserve that, don't I?” he said quietly, so quietly, as he twisted to place the book on a shelf.

Quentin grimaced at the self-hate exuding from those words. What tormented Daken? “Now, I'm sure that –”

Daken turned and reached up to kiss him, and wrapped his arms around Quentin's waist. His lips moved just barely against Quentin's, in that ghost motion that he favored to start with, those lazy soft brushes he would press for eons on Quentin's skin.

Quentin recognised the stalling for what it was; he forced himself to tilt back his head, and he rested his forehead on Daken's, staring down at those bright blue eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Daken closed his eyes and reached up again. “Not now,” he whispered, “please.” He dug his fingers in the small of Quentin's back, pressing him closer to himself; and Quentin could do nothing else than yield and press back against Daken, their mouths meeting once more; he wouldn't insist.

But this kiss was different from all those they'd been sharing – whether they were those stolen kisses in the corridors that would leave Quentin overwhelmed, or those intense long moments that would lead to frantic rutting on his part, Daken's soft whimpering sending him on edge.

No, this was different. There was a sharpness to Daken's movements, an aggressiveness in his tongue, something possessive in the way his fingers were tightening on Quentin's flesh. Like on that first night.

The memory alone was enough to make the blood sing in his veins. He deepened the kiss, his other hand coming up to grasp the back of Daken's neck, fingers working through the hair tightly tied. There were a few wisps of hair that always escaped the tie, and he alternated tugging at them and softly massaging Daken's nape. Daken loved that; and this time, as always, he moaned into Quentin's mouth as he responded more roughly to the kiss, his hips rocking into Quentin's.

He was also getting hard, his cock pressing against Quentin's thigh.

Surprised, Quentin shifted so that their erections would brush against one another. Daken gasped, legs parting, and Quentin found himself rubbing harder against Daken; already he felt waves mounting, a distant thunder in his ears –

Daken broke the kiss and partially turned his head away, and Quentin whimpered at the loss – but he hadn't stopped rocking into Quentin, so Quentin didn't stop either. He opened his eyes to find himself staring upon Daken's reddened cheeks and parted, glistening lips. There was a haze in Daken's eyes.

“Quentin.”

“Yes?”

Daken was resting his head against the bookshelf – its sharp angles must be annoying at best, pressed as they surely were on Daken's back. Quentin gentled his motion and then stopped completely, to allow Daken to shift to a more comfortable position; but Daken growled and slammed him back hard against himself, hands insinuating beneath Quentin's shirt. Quentin stood still as Daken's hands worked their way up Quentin's back in a slow caress; he tried to read Daken's intention in his feverish gaze.

This was still pretty much a guessing game on Quentin's part – this was the moment he would tiptoe around not to sway it in any unwanted direction. So far, after that first night, Daken had seemed contented with just kissing Quentin, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that it left him half-hard at best: he wouldn't even let Quentin touch him, even went as far as stopping Quentin's hands when they wandered down in the heat of the moment; and Quentin had respected that boundary, of course.

So Daken would rub himself against Quentin to help him finish, or sometimes he would stroke him to an orgasm through the fabric of Quentin's clothing, or sometimes he would slide a hand inside Quentin's trousers to bring him off with maddening precision – all the while pressing urgent sloppy kisses to Quentin's mouth.

But now Daken was hard as well.

He was still grinding against Quentin, head now tilted up, throat left exposed as a soft whine escaped his lips; and Quentin lowered his head to press a kiss below Daken's ear. Daken emitted a strangled moan, hips jerking, and then his hands run down Quentin's back, and he tugged Quentin's shirt up.

“Take that off,” he groaned, hands leaving Quentin. Quentin raised his head again, heart hammering.

“You want to –”

“Take it _off_.” Daken's voice was weak, almost imploring, and he was quickly unbuttoning his own shirt. Quentin took a few steps back and complied, blood thumping in his ears.

When they were both bare-chested Daken reached him and grabbed him by the hips, pulled him closer so that they were flush with each other. He buried his face in Quentin's neck, lips moving just barely against Quentin's skin. His fingers were digging into Quentin's hipbones as he rocked ever so slowly against him, and Quentin eased into the motion as he run his hands on Daken's back. They stood like this for a while, and it was so strange and foreign, almost as if they were slow dancing to a music only Daken could hear – Quentin bit his tongue at the absurd thought.

He kept caressing Daken's back, hands eventually reaching the back of his neck, and Daken hummed against his throat when Quentin pressed gently his fingertips to Daken's spine in a circling motion.

“Quentin,” Daken mouthed against Quentin's jawline as he raised his head, parting slightly from Quentin, hands leaving Quentin's hips to slide slowly up to Quentin's chest.

“Yes.” Quentin looked upon him, fingers carding through his hair there at the nape where the tie had already loosened. Daken's own fingers were ghosts against Quentin's skin, his gaze unfocused as he reached up to brush his lips against Quentin's. The kiss was overwhelming and yet a maddening tease, and Quentin's cock was throbbing painfully, the anticipation sending shivers down his spine. Daken's hands were slowly trailing down now, and Quentin whimpered at the thought of those long, slender fingers wrapping around his length.

As always, Daken hesitated before unfastening Quentin's pants, and Quentin bucked his hips forward in permission. “Yes,” he exhaled, “For the love of God, _yes_ –”

Daken quickly unbuttoned Quentin's jeans. But he didn't follow through with his hand. He turned his soft kiss into a sloppy, open-mouthed torture that lasted too little and then parted from Quentin, his next words sending a jolt up Quentin's spine. “Get on the bed.”

Quentin obeyed as a hammering echoed in his ears, a sound that made it almost impossible to think. It only existed this room, this room and Daken, Daken flushed and glorious, lips parted and eyes so soft as he watched him – Quentin kicked his shoes away and lay down, propping himself up on his forearms when Daken came over and bent down on him.

Daken's fingers hooked the hem of Quentin's jeans and he gave Quentin a questioning look, to which Quentin nodded, too exhilarated to speak. Daken slid the jeans down slowly, caressing Quentin's thighs and calves as he went, with such a care in his eyes that rendered him too bright to behold. He was too much. God, he was too _much_. He was looking down at Quentin almost as if he were momentarily speechless.

“I want –” he exhaled as he finished pulling Quentin's jeans away and pushed them aside on the bed, but Quentin couldn't wait; he writhed a little and relieved himself of his underpants as well.

Daken broke off as if transfixed.

“Yes?” Quentin panted, lifting his hips to slide the underpants down his legs. _Get down here and touch me, do something, please, please, please_ – he kicked the accursed things off the bed and lay naked, waiting for something that still wasn't coming. “ _Daken_.” Something in his voice broke Daken off his reverie and he bent over Quentin, a hand sliding up and down Quentin's leg.

“You're –” his hand was just a pale ghost, his touch gentle, his caress maddening. “God, Quentin. I –” He _grimaced_ , and – he straightened up abruptly.

Blinking blearily in the violent electric light, Quentin was hit by the strange thought that Daken was staring down at him almost as if he were at a loss, as if he didn't know what to do.

“Daken?” Quentin sat up, legs sprawled to the sides. “Do you want to stop?” he asked softly. Daken had been pretty firm about his boundaries as of yet. It was the only reason why Quentin was keeping up with their encounters despite the Cuckoos being still unconscious. He felt like he was taking advantage of the situation despite Daken reassuring him that he wasn't, and so far, it had been true: Daken would stop him frequently, there was no need to worry about any of that, he said – and yet, Quentin couldn't help but think that those boundaries were there because Daken himself wasn't really sure about the _extent_ of that wretched conditioning.

Daken shook his head, but spoke no words. Quentin slowly dragged himself to the edge of the bed, closer to him, and hesitantly lay his palms over Daken's sides, careful to take notice of any possible wince. There was none.

“Is this okay?” he asked for good measure.

“Yes,” an exhale.

“May I kiss you?”

Daken's eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”

Quentin pressed his face to Daken's stomach, brushed feather-light kisses against Daken's skin. Daken sighed above him, and his hands went to Quentin's head to grasp his hair and guide him lightly in a direction or the other. One of his hands lowered to Quentin's shoulder, to press Quentin closer to himself, and Quentin complied. Daken was... was _shaking_ ever so slightly, Quentin realised, his soft sighs and gasps the only thing reassuring Quentin that he should continue and not stop.

When Daken began slowly rocking against him, the bulge in his pants pressed against Quentin's chest, only then Quentin moved his own hands, to slid them gently against Daken's back and sides in a slow caress, and he kept brushing light kisses against Daken's stomach. Daken was moaning softly –

And then his hands left Quentin, and he caught Quentin's wrists. Quentin moved his head away immediately, raised his eyes to look at Daken, but Daken didn't appear to be crossed – he was gazing upon him with such a tenderness to his features, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted. He held Quentin's wrists as gently and firmly as he always did when he stopped Quentin, and then his expression sort of hardened, and he let go of Quentin... only to bring his hands to his own trousers, unbutton and slide them down quickly. Quentin could only stare at Daken's pale thighs, at how he was folding the trousers neatly and putting them on the bed. There was something at place here, that same reluctance Daken kept exhibiting, and Quentin was torn between stopping everything and trusting Daken to _know_ if they should stop.

Then Daken slid out of his boxers as well, and Quentin's mind went in short-circuit. Daken was glorious in his nakedness, a vision, and Quentin's breath caught in his throat, his cock throbbed painfully. His gaze trailed slowly over Daken's body, and he drank in the sight – it had been so much time, too much time, and he feared he would do something wrong, he feared he would ruin what was between him and Daken, this... this thing he couldn't name. He desperately needed to touch Daken, to be touched by Daken, but he kept still, waiting for Daken to act upon his desire. It was him that had to lead – the only way for Quentin to be sure that he wasn't forcing anything upon Daken.

Daken came closer, and there was no doubt that he wanted this – that he wanted _Quentin;_ his cock stood erect against his stomach. He reached out to caress Quentin's cheek, and Quentin leant into the touch; his gaze was caught by Daken's other hand, that rested upon a hip. God, he loved Daken's hands. They were big, his fingers long and skilled – the looming threat they posed sent shivers down Quentin's spine. He turned his head to brush a kiss against Daken's wrist and Daken's breath hitched. What would it take for him to unsheathe his claws? He had so much control over them; did they ever just pop out in response to some stimuli? The thought made a violent surge of desire rush through Quentin's veins.

Daken's fingers were moving on his hip, as if he were _fidgeting_ , and Quentin was debating if to say something or wait when Daken finally spoke, voice rough. “Quentin,” he said, and it was just his name – how could it affect Quentin so?

“Yes.” Quentin raised his head: Daken's eyes were very dark. “What do you want to do? Shall I –” he licked his lips; the thought of taking Daken into his mouth was sudden, the image powerful. God, how he ached to make Daken scream, to leave him shaking, the only thing holding him upright Quentin's own arms... “Would you like me to, you know,” God, he ought to regain some aplomb: he was stuttering like a damn kid. He lowered his gaze, noticed that Daken's fingers were still shifting on his hip, and _finally_ saw: Daken wasn't fidgeting, he was covering portions of his skin with his fingers – covering a few stretch marks.

The sight – the idea Daken was trying to hide the signs of his aging – made Quentin's chest ache. He got closer, caught Daken's hand and pushed the man's fingers away to brush his lips against the stretched skin. He looked up at Daken, caught the guarded surprise in his eyes, and it made his heart swell even more.

He nuzzled Daken's hip. “I'd love to blow you. Would that be okay for you?”

“Quentin,” Daken breathed, and he tugged gently at Quentin's hair. “No.”

 _Oh_. Taken aback, Quentin looked up at Daken. He didn't seem to be averse to Quentin's touching him; he simply didn't want that particular activity. “Okay. Then what do you want to do?”

“I want –” Daken blinked quickly. “I want to lay with you.” He spoke as if he'd said something so thoroughly unbelievable – his voice shook with something like wonder. “Just –” he shook his head, and looked so confused, so _lost_ –

“Yeah,” Quentin said softly, “Okay.” He let go of Daken and lay back on the bed. “Come here, then.”

And Daken followed. He finally climbed on the bed, and closed the distance between them with sudden urgency, almost as if he couldn't stand it. There was some fumbling of limbs, and then he was pressed against Quentin, chest to toes, and there was such intensity in his eyes, in his very touch, that was almost scary.

They rolled on the bed. Daken lay above Quentin, bracing himself on his forearms, planting small quick kisses to Quentin's mouth, and it was all Quentin had ever wanted, all he could possibly ever want – he ran his hands up Daken's back, shifted just so under Daken's weight, and settled in the soothing rhythm, not quite rocking, the friction of their cocks rubbing together a delicious torture.

Daken was humming softly and brushing his lips all over Quentin's face – kissing his eyelids, his cheeks, his forehead, brushing Quentin's damp hair away with his nose. It was obvious he was perfectly contented, and it made Quentin's chest ache so much he almost couldn't breathe. He reached up to free Daken's hair from the tie – it fell like a curtain around their heads – and then he buried his hands in it, fingertips massaging Daken's scalp.

That had Daken moan so softly and so close to his ear – he was pressing kisses to Quentin's cheekbone – that Quentin's hips jolted up in reaction, colliding quite painfully with Daken's.

Unfazed, Daken raised his head, his eyes blazing under heavy lids; his hair, hit by the room's light, almost seemed to form a halo. “What do you want to do?” he asked, voice rough; it shut down the little control Quentin had so far managed to hold onto.

“S'alright,” he slurred, brain unable to conjure anything more coherent.

Daken shook his head. “What do you want to do?”

“I – good, this is good, whatever you want –”

“Not today.” Daken lowered his head to leave a trail of kisses against Quentin's jawline. Quentin heard himself mewl. “You've been so patient with me, Quentin,” Daken murmured, and God, his voice was so low and gentle and deep – it sent shivers all over Quentin. “Tell me what you want to do.”

 _I – oh, God, I –_ Quentin whimpered and parted his legs. “Fuck me.”

Daken froze.

Or maybe not? He was pressing kisses to Quentin's throat. Had Quentin imagined it? “Of course,” Daken murmured, lips tracing Quentin's jugular. Yes, he must have imagined it... “Do you have lube?”

Oh God, yes. Lube. Lube was _good_ , lube was _amazing_ . Quentin sprang his nightstand's drawer open with his telekinesis and turned his head to watch as its contents floated around – it took his brain a while to realize that yes, there were condoms, and even those old pink handcuffs that he hadn't used in _years_ but he'd always left in there and he couldn't wait to use again – but _no fucking lube_.

Quentin groaned and shut his eyes; he heard everything drop on the floor, but he didn't _care_.

Really, it _shouldn't_ have come as a surprise. It was _ages_ that he hadn't needed it, and frankly, who'd had the time to _fetch_ any, with all those infernal things happening – the press, the wounded to care about, the funerals, their investigations that had led to nothing so far? It wasn't as if he'd even needed it, these past few days; truth be told, he hadn't even _thought_ about needing it. He and Daken hadn't really talked about the reluctance Daken was exhibiting, but it had been clear from the start what was off-limits, so the thought had never crossed his mind; Quentin hadn't wanted to pressure anything, and he'd figured they would have had more time soon, that Daken would have had more freedom to discuss anything once the Cuckoos took care of his mind – a subject Quentin hadn't even approached yet... because what if the Cuckoos never woke up from the coma the Phoenix had inflicted on them? What if they never regained consciousness? What would happen then? He had to prepare himself to let Daken go –

“Quentin?” Daken said softly, nuzzling his throat.

Quentin snapped his eyes open. Christ, he'd gone off on a tangent right there with Daken pressed against him, Daken finally hard for him. Quentin ached for him. He wasn't going to let the lube's absence ruin this – was he? He'd _manage_. “We'll make do,” he grinned bravely at Daken –

But Daken's expression darkened. “Absolutely not.”

“It's all right –”

Daken bit him on the shoulder. It wasn't really hard, but it wasn't a soft nip either. “Do not _lie_ to me, Quentin,” he growled. “I _know_ you don't want to _make do_.”

“Of course I –”

“ _Hypersenses_ , you maddening man.” Daken lifted himself and stared down at him, jaw clenched. “Your arousal spiked when I mentioned lube, and you're exuding anything but that now.”

“Well, you're cheating, you know,” Quentin drawled sullenly. He tugged at Daken's hair so that he would lower himself again.

“Oh, do shut up.” Daken rolled his eyes. “Says the _telepath_.” Then his features softened. “I don't want to hurt you, Quentin, I want to pleasure you.” He rocked gently against Quentin. “If you don't like to be taken roughly, then I won't. You like to be lubed up slow and good, don't you?” He captured Quentin's mouth with his, parted Quentin's lips with his tongue. He kept his rocking to a slow teasing rhythm, and Quentin moaned into his mouth, hips rutting up in response. Christ, he needed more friction –

Daken broke the kiss. “I bet you'll look exquisite as I _almost_ make you come with just my fingers, Quentin.” _Oh, God._ “And with my mouth.” Quentin whimpered at the words, at the low suggestive tone. “My tongue.” Daken slowly licked his throat and Quentin's hips bucked, his uncontrolled whines filling the room. “Would you like me to use my mouth now, Quentin?”

Christ, yes. Quentin wanted to say yes. He wanted so _desperately_ to say yes. But Daken's hard cock was pressed against him, precome already leaking and wetting Quentin's thigh, and Quentin wasn't going to lose the moment. He'd had his fair share of being tended to already. It was Daken's turn. “I – I want –”

“Yes?” Daken bit him lightly on the shoulder – then he moved downwards, pressing sloppy kisses down Quentin's chest.

With a heroic effort, Quentin tugged at Daken's hair so that he would stop doing the rather interesting things he was doing. “ _No,_ ” he managed to exhale, and Daken looked up, a question in his eyes. “Not now.” Quentin shook slightly his head. “I – I want to see your face. I want to watch you come.”

Daken blinked rapidly – and then he cocked an eyebrow. “I hope _you_ want to come as well?” he smirked.

“That would be nice.” Quentin grinned back.

“That would be nice, he says.” Daken snorted as he moved upwards again to press other soft kisses to Quentin's throat.

Quentin hummed. “Those are nice too.” He massaged Daken's head, shivered to the soft moans that elicited. “But I want to make you come _first_.”

And Daken rolled away and to his back, dragging Quentin with him so that he lay atop Daken; the whole motion was sudden and left Quentin breathless as the perspective was reverted, as he stared down at Daken's flushed features, at his hair fanned over the covers. He braced himself on the bed as Daken run his hands down Quentin's back to place them on Quentin's buttocks – he'd spread his legs as soon as Quentin had settled against him, the invitation quite unmistakable. And _God_ , did he want to –

“And how do you want to make me come, Quentin?” Daken rocked against him, voice rough and fingers digging into Quentin's flesh. Christ, if he didn't stop moving like that, Quentin wouldn't answer of himself. “Do you want to fuck me?” Daken's voice dropped an octave still, sending jolts up Quentin's spine directly to his head, a distant screech resonating in his ears. His face – or perhaps his smell, even – must have betrayed how this was affecting him, because Daken's breath hitched, his pupils dilating even more than they already were, and he rubbed himself against Quentin in a more forceful manner. It was rather distracting, but Quentin forced himself to stay still.

“There's no lube,” he reminded Daken. The man stilled as well – and then he laughed, a long delighted sound, as his hands run up Quentin's back again, and then to cup Quentin's face. He dragged Quentin down to kiss him, just quick brushes of his lips mingled with a gentle laughter, and Quentin responded to the light kisses, only mildly surprised by the reaction.

He wasn't that naive – he knew that, to Daken, the lube's absence probably _wouldn't_ matter, but he wanted to open Daken up as well, wanted to drag it out, hear him whimper and beg to be filled... and he needed the lube for that. Not to mention that Daken should get to decide whether to use it or not; and for that to happen, its presence was necessary.

Quentin reluctantly broke the kiss and tilted his head back. “How about I use my hand? Would you like that?”

“It sounds perfect, Quentin.” Daken caressed Quentin's face, the most beautiful smile on his lips; there was something so achingly soft in his gaze.

He was breathtaking.

Quentin lifted himself just enough to have room for his own arm, palm slowly sliding down Daken's chest, and shifted his weight to his other arm. He mouthed along Daken's jaw as he did so, giving soft nips and licks to his cheek.

One of Daken's hands traveled between them as well, maybe to reciprocate, but Quentin stopped his own to catch Daken's wrist. He wanted to focus on Daken; he didn't want to be distracted by Daken's skilled fingers.

When he stopped Daken, though, Daken let out a little yelp of surprise; Quentin raised his head to look at him, thinking it playful – sure enough, as he pinned Daken's wrist to the bed Daken offered no resistance whatsoever; he was merely watching Quentin from beneath his eyelashes, and then his lips parted in a whisper: “I won't move.”

“Exactly,” Quentin said firmly, and Daken bit his own lower lip _hard_. Quentin's head spun at the sight; he let go of Daken's wrist – Daken kept his arm still, fingers grasping at the covers – and reached up to wipe away a bit of blood that Daken had drawn.

God, the soft whimper that escaped Daken's lips sent Quentin nearly on edge. He briefly considered licking the blood off of his fingers, wondering how _would_ Daken react then –

– but then the moment passed, and he cleaned his fingers on the covers. He reached between them again. “Let me take care of you.”

“ _Yes_ –” Daken's hips jolted as soon as Quentin wrapped his fingers around the man's cock. Quentin teased for a while, thumbed the head to spread the precome down his length, but Daken was writhing and whimpering, eyes tightly shut, so beautiful and pale and slick with sweat; his other hand was grasping at the covers as well, and Quentin didn't want to drag this out too much for him. He set a quick pace that had Daken thrust frantically into his hand and emit broken moans, and he looked so lost in what Quentin was giving him that Quentin thought he could come from the sight alone.

It didn't last much: Daken gave one last thrust and came with a shudder, a whine dying on his lips. There was silence and then he drew a few slow ragged breaths – he hadn't passed out this time. Quentin released Daken's spent cock and waited as Daken caught his breath, committing his naked features to memory.

He looked so perfect that Quentin felt his heart swell, his chest ache with tenderness. The sharpness of Daken's features was mellowed by his climax – it gave him a softer look, leveled the lines of worry, wiped them away from his face.

“Quentin,” he whispered, eyes still shut.

“Yes?” Quentin reached up and brushed Daken's damp hair away from his face – Daken caught his wrist firmly, his eyes fluttering open. There was something predatory in them, that made Quentin's heart skip a beat, his cock bob.

Daken smiled. “Your turn now, you maddening man.”

Quentin's breath caught in his throat. “Hell, I won't stop you.” He couldn't recognize his own voice, roughened by the sheer desire sending shivers all over his body.

“I thought so.” Daken raised his head to kiss him as he released Quentin's wrist to press firmly his hand to Quentin's chest and push him away: he maneuvered the both of them to lay on their sides, a leg hooking around Quentin's to draw him closer to himself, mouth leaving Quentin's only when he curved his other arm so that Quentin could lay his head on Daken's elbow. Quentin buried a hand in Daken's hair, and shifted his other arm out of the way, catching Daken's shoulder. Daken's eyes were clear and focused now, fixed on Quentin's face.

He reached down to finally, _blessedly_ wrap his fingers around Quentin's cock – and it was fast, and good, and glorious; Quentin's orgasm took him sooner than he'd thought, the anticipation having been too much, and left him shivering and panting against Daken's chest, fingers digging into Daken's shoulder, the other fist tight around Daken's hair.

Daken was placing kisses atop his head, carding his fingers through Quentin's curls; the hand around his cock gave one last gentle squeeze that had Quentin whimper with the overstimulation; and then Daken wrapped his arm around Quentin's waist, fingers tracing patterns on Quentin's spine.

Quentin didn't want to ever leave Daken's arms. The world outside was ugly; so many had died for a world that kept killing them all despite everything they did to show that they could coexist; the world outside would always, _always_ respond with violence, and he was so sick of that, so disgusted. The world outside hurt even children.

_Burn them all._

The Phoenix was a presence at the back of his mind, a hungry whisper that would echo louder as anger took hold of him; but here in Daken's arms, Quentin was sure he could keep the flames at bay. Daken grounded him back. Daken had grounded him back, had saved him from himself.

“What's wrong?” Daken murmured.

“Nothing.” Quentin nuzzled Daken's chest.

“Quentin –” Daken sighed heavily. “If this is about my mind again –”

“No.” He pressed a kiss to Daken's chest. “No, I know. It was – it was just dark thoughts, that's all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I'm fine.” He really was. He felt safe and contented; he wished for this moment to never end.

“If you're sure,” Daken said softly, brushing his lips against Quentin's brow. Quentin hummed in response; the gesture was intimate in a way that made his chest ache.

He settled more comfortably in Daken's arms and Daken shifted just so to accommodate his repositioning. Quentin sighed. Had he ever felt so at peace? How much time had passed from when everything was simple? Those days were gone, and yet they almost appeared to have come back now, here in Daken's arms –

Daken's breathing had taken on an even cadence; Quentin raised his head and found himself staring upon Daken's relaxed features: his eyes closed, his sweat-dampened hair falling in bands across his face. He'd fallen asleep in a matter of seconds. Wasn't he cold? Quentin was starting to feel chilly himself. He summoned a duvet from the closet and had it cover them gently so as not to wake Daken up. He had always that tired look on his face, as if he didn't get nearly enough sleep – it was evident he was worried about his child... and about his daughter as well, about the danger the two of them put themselves in with their playing that dangerous game in Madripoor. Quentin was glad Daken could have some respite as well, tonight –

Sleep claimed Quentin, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't dream.

 

* * *

 

Quentin woke up to an absence and he opened his eyes in the dim light. Rolling to his back to look at the window, he saw it was dawning.

“I woke you up.” Daken's voice came from in front of the bed; he was closing the private bathroom's door. “Sorry.”

“It's all right.”

Daken was beautiful in the gentle morning light, hair loose over his shoulders. His face looked well-rested, something Quentin hadn't seen in days. And Quentin himself hadn't slept this soundly in a long time. He stretched under the duvet, a yawn escaping his lips.

Daken caught his boxers from the feet of the bed and put them on, then his hands hovered over his trousers.

Quentin furrowed his brows. “Are you leaving?”

Daken looked at him. “If you want me to. I hadn't meant to impose on you, Quentin. You –” he broke off, as if searching for words. “You make me sleep.”

“Ouch.” Quentin grinned. Daken cocked an eyebrow.

“Well. Let's say you wore me out.” He knelt on the bed. “I don't usually sleep this much.”

“This much?” Quentin smirked. “It's _dawning_. It's early.” _I'm glad you slept._

“Which is why I'm sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep, Quentin.”

“You don't have to leave. I don't mind.” Maybe it was just a tad too much on the side of the petulant, but he didn't want Daken to leave. He wanted to have him there forever, safe and warm.

Daken shrugged. “Well, now that I think about it, this _is_ a real bed...”

“A _real_ bed?”

“Queen-size.” Daken lowered himself slowly to lay on his stomach over the duvet beside Quentin, a sigh escaping his lips. “That pale excuse for a bed in my room is way too little.” He crossed his arms on the pillow, head tilted to look at him, lush hair sliding gloriously over his shoulders.

“Oh, you want a bigger bed?” Quentin smirked and turned to lay on his side. “I can see to that.”

“You only say that so you can use it without worrying about collapsing in an undignified leap on the floor,” Daken countered, a smug smile on his lips. Quentin internally winced at remembering the scene that had unfolded as Daken was on the phone with his daughter – and his heart skipped a beat at the implication of what Daken had said.

Daken didn't seem to realise what he'd said – or, more likely, perhaps to him it was nothing special; after all, they were sharing so much already. But sleeping together was on a different level of intimacy, at least to Quentin. Of course, that first night, Daken had mentioned hook-ups; he was far more casual about sex than Quentin. He had a different mindset, wholly different routines –

“You have that look again.” Daken placed his chin over his forearms.

“What look? My dashingly handsome look?”

“Mh.” Daken smirked. “No. The one you get when you analyse our relationship.”

Had Quentin been younger, his breath would have stopped at the words. Instead, he managed to merely blink, his brain processing them with objectivity. “You never used that word.”

“I _never_ used that word, yes.” Daken nodded. “Unlike you, Quentin, I don't really know what I'm doing. I did have what I might now call relationships, I suppose.” He looked pensive. “I ruined them, of course.” There was a bitter quality to his voice; Quentin listened quietly and remained still, despite his overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around Daken – sensing Daken wouldn't want to be so coddled, not while he approached the subject of his past _for the first time_ from his own, _adult, not-amnesiac_ perspective. “Because they were tertiary to what else I gained from those relationships. I entered those dynamics – initiated them – to gain what I needed. Sometimes I did find myself enthralled by my playthings – caring about them.” He shut his eyes. “I terminated those. They made me weak, and I couldn't allow that.”

“When you say _terminated_ –”

“Sometimes,” Daken responded offhandedly, not even waiting for Quentin to end his question. “Others, I simply ruined utterly, to the point of no return, but yes. Some. That's what I am, Quentin.”

“Not anymore.” Quentin spoke the words with firm certainty.

“No. I learnt quite some time ago that caring doesn't make me weak.” Daken opened his eyes again, looked at him. “But I don't claim that wipes away my actions.”

“And I never said it did.”

Daken looked at him with something like wonder in his eyes. “Are you all right with that?”

“No. Of course I'm not.” The blood on Daken's hands must be immeasurable – and Quentin didn't think for a moment that he wouldn't spill it again, if the need arose. “But I told you. I see past that.”

“There will come a time when you won't be able to,” murmured Daken.

Quentin pressed his lips together. “And there _you_ are doing it again.” He propped himself up on his elbow. “It's as if you expect me to turn on my heels and run because I suddenly realize you're a monster. You're not, and I won't.”

“Such certainties.” Daken grimaced a smile.

“Do you _want_ me to? Turn around and leave?”

“No. I want –” Daken sighed and turned his head to press his face to his hands, effectively hiding his face from Quentin's view. “I want to spend this time with you. I enjoy your company. I care about you. I –”

“You won't hurt me.”

“You said we shouldn't promise that.” Daken reminded him, a hint of exasperation in his voice, “It's hypocritical, and insulting, and I know I will, and I don't want to –”

“Let's say I don't _care_ if you do.” Quentin interrupted him, “Let's say I trust you to do your best and that matters to me. I know – I understand –” he struggled for words. He knew already what _horrors_ had formed Daken, he knew _why_ Daken had always felt that caring was weakness; but he couldn't shove it in Daken's face. He knew, and Daken knew that he knew... and Daken would even make passing comments that he knew Quentin would understand – but Quentin would _openly_ broach the subject only if Daken did first. “I _get_ this is new to you. This – whatever this is –” there was no doubt in Quentin's mind as to what he felt already, what he felt blossoming in his chest, so beautiful and delicate and new after the drought. He'd always been one to throw himself onto things with no safety belt. “We'll sort it out. We have all the time in the world.”

Daken didn't answer right away – he kept his silence for a while, his face still pressed against his arms. Quentin looked upon him, upon his tense shoulders, and wondered what was he thinking about.

Then Daken spoke levelly. “I'll be gone, eventually, Quentin.”

Quentin sighed. “Do you plan on doing it now? Are you going to leave today?”

Daken turned to look at him, a remote look on his face. “No.”

“Then I won't worry about that. I'll do when you'll decide to. When you'll decide to go back to your kids. And I'll –” he hesitated, thinking it might be too intense and too soon, but then he said it anyway, because to hell with caution; he had to live up to those words he was about to say, if he really meant them. “I'll treasure everyday.”

“Carpe diem,” murmured Daken, a glimmer in his eyes that he blinked away.

“Yes. I almost _died_ , Daken, and –” _You saved me_. “Life's too short to worry about people leaving. I did that for too long – I _hid_ for too long. I'll take what I can get. What you'll want to give. I don't want anything else – I won't ask for _anything_ more, ever –”

Daken propped himself up on his elbows, something in his face that Quentin couldn't quite place. His features shifted too quickly for Quentin to discern an emotion. Relief had seemed to be in his eyes, but there was something else behind, an uneasiness. “I'll give you what I can, Quentin. One day at a time. I'm sorry it's not much –” How deep was the damage, that somewhere in the depths of his mind – despite _everything_ they'd told each other already – he would be hit with the doubt that Quentin might simply be looking for something in return?

“Don't even say it.” Quentin reached out of the duvet to catch Daken's hand, that glimmer in Daken's eyes having urged him to action. “I didn't mean that – I don't _expect_ anything from you, I –” Daken brought Quentin's hand to his cheek, pressed a gentle kiss to his palm.

“I know. I understood. I actually –” He lay down again, eyes fluttering shut. “I feel the same,” he murmured, “I wasn't sure we were on the same page. I can do that. One day at a time, I _want_ to, Quentin, for as long as I can. And I'll treasure everyday as well.” Even as Daken said that – the words echoing in Quentin's ears, filling him with joy and relief – it was apparent to Quentin that there was something else at the back of Daken's mind, some reluctance, almost a fear that he wouldn't name.

He would wait for Daken to name it, on his own time. For now, he settled on a small measure of comfort, a gesture he hoped would soothe Daken even if words had failed, and he carefully combed Daken's hair with his fingers. Daken sighed. Quentin was suddenly painfully reminded of the first time he'd done so, of holding Daken in his arms so many years ago, Eike just having been brought to safety from the facility, Quentin's own pain heavy in his heart. At the time he'd acted on instinct, much as he was doing now. Sometimes words were simply a burden, and actions simpler, safer, more welcome. But from their sexual interactions, he had a feeling that, to Daken, the perception was heightened, his hypersenses likely tuning him more sharply to physical gestures – maybe even rendering them unwelcome; he stopped his hand. “Is – is this all right?” he asked warily.

“Don't stop,” Daken exhaled. “Please, continue.” He turned his head, allowing Quentin more access to his hair, and Quentin resumed his caress, brushing it away from Daken's shoulders and to the side. Daken stretched like a cat being petted, his whole body elongated over the duvet like an elegant panther, eyes half-closed in what truly looked like a look of feline contentedness. It was eerie and beautiful to see him so relaxed; Quentin wanted nothing more than this, nothing more than bringing him some solace. He could pass hours doing this, hours simply laying beside Daken, doing nothing but this, reveling simply in the peace on Daken's face and in his own heart. He wanted it to never end, but nevertheless he would accept its end when it came.

His gaze run down Daken's body, not in desire, but in contemplation of the relaxed way he lay. And as that first night, his attention was captured by the complex tattoo that covered Daken's back... As if he were a moth ensnared by a flame he stared, transfixed, at the serpentine Japanese dragon whose coils wound aggressively on Daken's skin. It was painted vividly, scales shining as if wet, and here and there entwined itself with what looked like cherry tree branches. It had a dynamic pose, tiny arms poised as if it was bracing itself on Daken's very back – and on Daken's left shoulder, it joined the old tattoo with brutality, its fangs sinking deep between the neck and wings of the stylized black western dragon.

There was symbolism there, a story whose details Quentin couldn't discern, but from what he knew he could surmise something here and there. He was pretty sure the gigantic beast represented either Daken or the man he considered his father, Akihira. As for the black dragon – well, that was a given, really –

“Ryuujin,” Daken's voice shook Quentin from his thoughts and he turned to look at Daken: he was resting his cheek on his forearm, looking at Quentin from beneath his eyelashes. “You're looking at the tattoo.”

Quentin nodded.

Daken opened his eyes, clear and bright. “That's Ryuujin. The dragon god of the sea. Are you familiar with Shintoism?”

“Not very much. Hisako tried to explain – it's very diverse, isn't it?”

“Mh.” Daken stretched. “My father followed the _Ryuujin shinkou._ ”

“Dragon god faith?” Quentin cocked his head to the side, hand leaving Daken's hair to hover hesitantly over his shoulder. “May I?”

“Of course. And yes,” he added as Quentin's fingers traced delicately the lines of the tattoo, “It's more like an agricultural set of belief, at least in the form my father practiced. Protection for the land, and all that. Rural. Simple.”

“Protection.” Quentin traced the fangs, the droplets of blood spraying from the black dragon's wound. “This is offensive, not defensive.”

“They're one and the same.” Daken closed his eyes. “I wear on my skin what I couldn't do myself, what Akihira couldn't have possibly done, even if he'd been alive. Had he, he would have betrayed himself, what he believed in. The dragon's him, but the intent, the action – another took that place. They're – both on my skin.”

 _Logan_. Logan had killed Romulus. Quentin understood then. Two fathers inked as one, taking on the third. And the branches?

It was for Daken to say, not for Quentin to pry into. He hadn't mentioned them, so Quentin's hand trailed down. “And so you took that name to honor your –” he hesitated, “fathers.”

“Daken? Yes.” Daken smirked, eyes still closed.

Quentin needed a moment to remember that daken meant mongrel. A derogatory, prideful, spiteful choice for a name, but to Daken it had apparently acquired a new, different, respectful meaning. He didn't doubt that Daken was saying the truth with his sardonic comment; he only saw pretty well that he was trying to change the subject.

“No. Ryuujin.”

“Mmm. I don't know what you're talking about.” Daken opened his eyes, mirth in them.

“Oh, you do, mister.” Quentin wrinkled his nose. “Ryuujin, the elusive crime boss ruling over Japan.”

“Oh, _that_.” Daken arched an eyebrow. “Ryuujin is dead, long live Ryuujin,” he almost chanted. “It's a name, now, just that. I'm no more Ryuujin than you are. But yes.” His features softened. “That, I took to honor Akihira.”

“It must have been difficult to have it accepted,” Quentin mused, and then he added, at Daken's curious stare: “Hisako was pissed off when she explained us it was a _god_. She said it was an arrogant name.” Daken snorted.

“Some ruffled feathers, yes. It's just the symbolics of it that interested me. I'm not religious. At the end of the day, it's just a sea dragon, a –” he trailed off. Quentin felt warped, not quite there, his own voice resonating in his ears: _sea dragon, harbinger of_ – what was the rest? “– mythical creature,” Daken continued smoothly. Had he trailed off? Quentin blinked.

“You felt it, too.”

“What?” Daken furrowed his brows.

“Say the last sentence again. Slowly.”

“At the end of the day, it's just a sea dragon –” Daken blinked rapidly as Quentin heard it again – it was his _own_ voice: _world serpent, sea dragon, harbinger of Ragnar_ _ø_ _kkr_ – Quentin blinked and saw Daken in front of him, Daken surrounded by Quentin's flames, his head held between Quentin's hands, and he was saying something, lips barely moving, face pale, his scar barely visible above Quentin's thumb, and he was saying –

“ _Oh_ .” Daken twisted to lay on his side, taking the tattoo away from Quentin's view. Quentin felt the wind knocked out of him. “Yes. You – the _Phoenix_ said that. I remember –” Daken trailed off. “Strange. I only recalled that now. Do you remember?”

Quentin nodded... yes, he did. As the Phoenix burned Daken's cheeks, it had spoken those words, asked why was Daken trying to stop it. It had talked about... about sisters?... and had called Daken those names, said that Daken _belonged_ to it. “Yes. I only recalled it now, too. You'd think I'd remember that.”

“The Phoenix quoting Shakespeare.” Daken hummed; he appeared lost in thought, and it scared Quentin. It was irrational, and he knew that, but he couldn't help it. Daken continued: “Yes, that would be unforgettable.”

“Shakespeare?” Quentin said, hoping to distract him.

“Quentin. Before delving into _other countries_ ' literature, glorious as Japanese poetry is, you should do well to know the roots of _your own_ language.” Daken threw him an almost contempted glance. “ _The weird sisters, hand in hand_ ,” he declaimed, his firm deep voice resonating crisply in the room, “ _posters of the sea and land, thus do go, about, about; thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, and thrice again, to make up nine_ –” Quentin recognized the trochaic tetrameter as Shakespearean, of course – he rummaged through his brain and came up with the answer immediately.

“Macbeth.”

“ _Very_ good,” Daken purred. “I'd lost hope.”

“There's no reason to be so condescending.”

“Weeaboo,” Daken said affectionately. Quentin winced, the label having been thrown at him by Hisako sometimes during their language sessions.

“My God, Daken, that word was used when I was a _teenager_.”

“Mh-mh.”

“How do you even _know_ it?”

“Teenage daughter, of course.” Daken winked.

“Oh, so she went on long tirades on middle-schoolers around the world appropriating her culture?” It was strange to imagine the composed Maiko going through puberty.

Daken nodded. “A truly terrifying sight.”

“I bet. So.” Quentin cleared his throat, grateful his tactic had worked. “Then here we have a bad case of anglophilism on the Phoenix's part. Unreal. _Do_ cosmic powers read?” he mused, “Are they even _aware_ of literature?”

“Are you deliberately avoiding what other things it said?” Daken grimaced. “I don't think it _reads_ , no. I think it used the closest modern English word possible to express the concept it was thinking about. The connection to Shakespeare is fortuitous, even if there's debate as to whether Shakespeare _was_ inspired by that.”

“Now you're just being cryptic for the sake of it.” Quentin tried to shut down the nausea, ignore the cold beats of sweat running down his back. Yes. He _was_ avoiding the rest, and if Daken would just run with it, it would be great –

But he didn't. Daken was solving a puzzle, and he wasn't going to stop.

“ _Weird_ comes from _wyrd_ ,” he said with a professorial tone. “Fate. The sisters of fate, or something like that. And later it mentioned Ragnarøkkr. It was probably talking of the Norns. They _touched_ me, it said.”

“That's kind of ridiculous.” _Stop_ , Quentin begged, _Stop right now, please._

“It sounds like it, doesn't it?” Daken grimaced. “But I remember. Well. Not... not exactly.” He had confusion all over his face, and Quentin wanted to shut. Him. Up. “It's like – a dream. A memory of a dream of a memory. I only recalled when it _said_ it, and now _again_ . The Norns: I _did_ meet them, years ago.”

“Sounds pretty eventful.” Quentin said, voice level. He just wanted Daken to stop talking about it, stop thinking about it. Daken raised an eyebrow at him.

“I tell you I met the fabled Norns and that I only remembered _now_ , and that's your reaction?”

“Hey, we all meet gods. That's kind of our thing. How about Thor? Big, blond, loud?” Quentin sat up, avoiding Daken's gaze, but Daken caught his arm.

“Don't tell me you believe it? You believe what it _said_ ? _Me_ , harbinger of Ragnarøkkr? You think I would bring destruction on this planet?” he hissed, fingers digging into Quentin's arm. “I _stopped_ the Phoenix, didn't I?”

“You did.”

“I did.” Daken said, voice flat. “I _remember_ . They called it _crossroads_. They wanted me to bring destruction but I chose not to, Quentin; I chose to stop the Phoenix.”

“I _know_ , I was there.” Quentin turned to look at him: Daken was looking at him with an incredulous look on his face. “It's just... weird, okay?” Quentin winced.

“I'm not going to set this world aflame, Quentin, that's preposterous,” Daken said, so very softly. “It probably sensed the Norns' visions and tried to fuck me over. It was trying to convince me to stay by its side, remember? Because you were stopping it from harming me, and it sensed I was breaching to you –”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah. I know. I'm not _buying_ it, Daken, I'm not _distrusting_ you.”

“You're sure –”

“ _Yes_ ,” Quentin said fiercely. _Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it –_

Daken bit his lower lip. “You're upset. We can ask Kaplan to divine my fate or whatnot, if it helps –”

“ _STOP IT!_ ” Quentin snarled, screeches piercing his ears.

Daken _yelped_ , eyes going wide, and went totally still, there beside him over the duvet.

Quentin was hit by an even worse surge of nausea. So it _could_ happen: he _could_ command Daken – this _had_ to stop, he _had_ to stop this – the Cuckoos, they needed to wake up, they needed to wake up _immediately_ and remove that trigger –

Quentin got up quickly, walked backwards to distance himself from Daken, only stopping when his back met the wall. “Sorry. I'm sorry, please, just – fuck. Can you talk?” Daken wasn't moving – he was just staring at him, silent, pale. “Oh, God, please say something...”

At last Daken sat up slowly, hands up as if Quentin were a scared animal. “Quentin. It's all right,” he said, voice immeasurably soft.

“No, it's not. I –”

“ _It's all right_ ,” Daken said, more forcefully. “You just startled me. You're surrounded by _flames_ , Quentin.”

Quentin shook his head, even as he saw it was true and dissipated them. A sob escaped his lips as he wrapped his arms around himself, standing naked there in front of the window, staring down at Daken. Daken was just looking up at him with tenderness and infinite patience, as if nothing had happened, as if Quentin hadn't just caused him _a fucking fight-or-flight response._

“There you go. Good.” Daken said, still so terribly softly, and dragged himself towards the edge of the bed, closer to Quentin. “That's better. No flames, no black eyes.” What? “Quentin, what's wrong?”

“I –” Quentin shut his mouth, his eyes. This was so stupid, Jesus Christ, so stupid, and Daken had nothing to do with it –

“You don't trust me?”

Quentin shook his head. “Of course I do.”

“Then what's wrong?”

“I don't – why would you _want_ that?” The words came out of his mouth on their own, desperate and terrified. “Why would you want to know? Who _cares_ about what the Phoenix said? I don't, I swear I don't... you don't have to undergo that just to reassure me, I'm fine, I –”

“Undergo what?” Daken said softly. Quentin couldn't open his eyes.

“You said we could ask Billy to read your future. Just because the Phoenix blabbered rubbish about fire and death... but it does it all the time, it's constantly hungry, but I _control_ it, I –”

“You're worried it will overcome you. Make you devour everything.”

“I – that's not the _point!_ ” Quentin snapped his eyes open. Daken was looking at him with such tenderness and _worry_ in his eyes that it made his stomach churn. “We're talking about _you_. Why would you want to know what the future brings? Who would _want_ to know something like that? Do you have any idea of what that's _like?_ What knowing your future _does_ to you?”

Daken blinked. “I just wanted to reassure you that there was no way that would ever happen –”

“You don't _know_ that! And I don't care, anyway. Okay?”

“You don't care to know if someone is about to destroy the planet?” Daken furrowed his brow. “Shouldn't you know? That's kind of your thing, Quentin: you're a hero, you _save the world_.”

“Not like this, I don't!” Quentin tried to keep calm, but he really couldn't. He shut his eyes. “Knowing your future only brings pain,” he said quickly, “And madness. You count the days, you tell yourself that it's wrong, that it couldn't possibly be the truth, that you'll change everything, and then somewhere along the way you give up, as if it were set in stone, you say that you don't care, but you still treat it like a constant, the only constant in your life... and then one day it comes, and you're left stranded, alone, and fucking miserable, and you've wasted everything, you wasted so much time, wasted everything you could have done but you _didn't_ because you obsessed over something you shouldn't have. You ruined everything, and yourself, and everyone around you –”

“Quentin.” Daken's voice was so close... he was in front of him. Then he wrapped his arms around Quentin. “Who are you talking about?” There was a strange, quivering quality to his voice.

“I –” Quentin's shoulders crumbled. “ _Evan_ ,” he sobbed, head falling, and pressed his face to the crook of Daken's neck, mumbled amidst Daken's hair: “He knew he would become Apocalypse and he spent half his life worrying about that, he obsessed over that so much, he took it for _granted_ – and then it came, but he _caused_ it... he caused it by worrying about it – maybe it wouldn't have even _ever_ happened if he hadn't been told it would happen –” Daken's arms tightened around him. “Am I – am I making sense?”

“Yes,” whispered Daken, softly, so softly, “Of course you are.”

“He –” Quentin sobbed, “He said that he didn't want to kill me – that if I hadn't been the Phoenix, I would have been safe from him... that he probably would have gone for bigger fishes, and I would have been _safe_ from him. He was _convinced_ that if the Original Five went back home, the Phoenix would have chosen Jean again, not _me_ – he convinced them to try and go back –”

“And then it happened,” Daken said softly.

“Yes.” Quentin wailed. It had been hysterical... the time machine had kept rejecting the Original Five over, and over, and over again... eventually they'd wanted to leave: it hadn't even been the first time they'd tried to go back to their own timeline; they were just so damn _tired_ of it all, of constantly trying and never succeeding. And Evan had snapped – and Warren had fallen – dropped dead, just like that, blood exuding from every single pore as if his internal organs had collapsed simultaneously. It hadn't taken much to realize that _Evan_ had caused that: perhaps, a residual psychic link between the monster he had been cloned from and Warren's counterpart of _this_ reality had tuned Warren more sharply to Evan's sudden outburst of power.

After the initial shocked horror, as they all backed away from Evan – not Quentin, no... he'd _tried_ to get through to him – there had been a coldness in Evan's eyes, as it settled in that he had just become what he had spent his life dreading he would become. And he'd _embraced_ it. He'd fled, he'd erected walls all around his heart, his mind. He'd pushed them all away – his friends, and Quentin himself. He'd retired deep, deep into himself, to a place where no one could reach him, and he'd emerged with a single purpose: send the Original Five home. Because there was still that firm certainty in his mind, on which he was fixated like a madman, every ounce of sanity gone from him – that if he sent them back, Quentin would be safe from him. It made no sense, no sense whatsoever, but he was gone where rational words couldn't reach him anymore. He'd researched alien technology, conducted terrible experiments, killed so many – during one of his many attempts to send them back, he'd ended up fusing the two Hanks together... he'd melted Bobby's mind until he'd ended up being a lump that now “lived” in the Antarctic... and god, what he'd done to Scottie was horrific. He'd _had_ to be stopped. And so many others had died, so many – all to protect Quentin from himself, but he'd ended up being something cruel, horrible, twisted – something Quentin couldn't bear to look upon. A monster.

When he'd targeted Jean, the last standing of the old group, the X-Men had gone in with full force. The fight that had ensued had leveled down their forces, had them still reeling from the losses. So many had died, so many –

And then, the unexpected. After killing Logan – they would never know what had transpired between them in those last moments, what had Logan told him – he'd submitted to Quentin. He'd _allowed_ Quentin to stop him.

Quentin had always been the only one that Evan could possibly _permit_ to be killed by. It had all come full circle: his turning to _protect_ Quentin; his allowing Quentin to kill him to _avoid_ hurting Quentin –

Daken listened quietly, never uttering a single word, just comforting him with his presence, his arms wrapped around Quentin, fingers circling in soothing patterns on Quentin's skin – Quentin spoke, voice breaking every now and then, for what felt like hours... but when he finished, they were still surrounded by the pale light of dawn.

Quentin drew a shaky breath and embraced Daken back hesitantly, grateful for his silence, for his presence.

“Quentin,” Daken now said softly, “It wasn't your fault. It was never your fault. Evan made his decisions, and you can't still carry their burden on your shoulders.” Quentin recalled how Daken had told him pretty much the same the night of the funeral. He was right, of course, but when had Quentin ever listened to reason? Not when his guts said something else entirely.

“I know,” he tried to say, fingers digging into Daken's back, “I – I _tried_ to tell him it didn't matter, that we would create our own future. But he was terrified of hurting me, you know, he –”

“It _wasn't_ your fault,” Daken repeated, “He loved you and cared about you and did it for you, but you can't load it up on your shoulders, Quentin. He wouldn't have _wanted_ that.”

“No, he wouldn't have,” Quentin whimpered. “He always cared about everyone but _himself_ , fuck.”

“That reminds me of someone,” Daken said softly, and Quentin snorted, tears streaming down his face.

“I'm a fucking nutcase, aren't I?”

“No, you aren't, Quentin. I understand your pain. But it's _toxic_ , and you need to let it go. Don't let that rule your life. Don't treat it like a compass, don't make that mistake. It's the worst mistake you can make,” Daken whispered.

“I – I don't know if I can,” Quentin confessed, digging his fingers deep into Daken's shoulders. “I don't know if I can let it go. I'm sorry, I –”

“Hush.” Daken caressed his hair. “Don't apologize to me. I have nothing to do with it.”

“But _you're_ here now, and it's not right –”

“Yes, I'm here now.” Daken spoke softly. “I'm here with you. I'll stand with you, Quentin. You don't have to do this alone.”

 _I don't deserve it, I don't_ – Quentin tightened his hold on Daken, grateful for his presence, his words, his arms – “ _Promise_ me,” he choked out against Daken's chest.

“Anything,” was the firm whisper coming in return.

“P-p-promise me that you won't do it, ever. That you won't compromise your sanity for me. That you won't ask Billy to divine anything.” Daken's arms were strong around him, holding him tightly.

“Quentin –”

“No, I'm serious. Please. Please. I don't care what the Phoenix said. I _trust_ you. Don't go and try to find out your future, it will rip you apart. I don't want you to be ripped apart, _knowing your future rips you apart._ I _know_ that.” Daken's breath hitched, his arms were shaking around Quentin. Maybe he thought that Quentin thought he would really find out something terrible. Quentin rushed to reassure him: “Maybe it's great! Maybe it's nothing but _happiness_ ... maybe there's just _one_ thing, just one fucking thing that you don't like and you end up _obsessing_ over that and – I don't want that for you, Daken, please. Please. I'm _begging_ you, I –”

“Of course, Quentin,” said Daken softly, so softly, oh so softly, the barest whisper as he brushed his lips against Quentin's hair. “I won't. I don't need to know my future. And Kaplan would probably scoff at me, you know,” he said lightly, in a quite obvious and desperate attempt to get through to Quentin, alleviate the heavy mood in the room, “ _I'm quite busy, Daken, and I don't like you anyway_ ,” he added, in a pompous tone that kind of reminded of Billy's, and Quentin let out a choked snort, grateful for the distraction.

“Thank you,” he murmured, raising his head. There was still a veil clouding his eyes, and he couldn't quite work out Daken's features; he blinked the tears away, and Daken reached up to thumb them away from Quentin's cheeks.

“Always.” Daken smiled a strange, reassuring smile that had nevertheless a ghost of pain behind it. Quentin felt his heart skip a beat.

“I'm sorry –”

“Shhh.” Daken shook his head, his gaze soft. “It's all right, Quentin. Everything is going to be all right.”

 _Yes_ , Quentin thought savagely, _I can believe that._

_You – you make me believe that._

Grateful, sheer relief rushing through his veins, Quentin tightened his embrace. Bathed in the light of day, Daken's face was a confirmation, a promise, a reassurance. Quentin believed him. He believed him with all his heart. Everything would be all right, always and forever, as long as he was in Daken's arms –

A loud knocking on his door shook the both of them from this bliss; Daken wrinkled his nose, then smiled at him. “A Cuckoo,” he said, and Quentin's heart did a backflip. Oh, thank God. Thank _God_ they'd woken up –

But why was only _one_ of them knocking at his door, and so _early_ at that? A shiver of dreadful anticipation run down Quentin's back as he pushed Daken away and went to collect clean boxers from the dresser.

He stopped himself from poking at her mind, the fact that she hadn't announced herself telepathically and the viciousness with which she banged on the door a second time making him err on the side of caution. He didn't _want_ to face her, he realized as he put the boxers on. It was bad enough that he – not really; it had been the _Phoenix_ – had shut her and her sisters down and forced a coma on them; now Quentin wanted to ask a favor of them, but maybe they were furious, and they truly had the right to be –

“Quintavius Quirinius Quire! I _know_ you're there!” Her voice – her voice was broken at the edges, and it froze Quentin to the _bone_.

Why was she _alone?_ Why – oh God –

“Quentin.” Daken's voice was soft, his hand warm on Quentin's shoulder, and then he went at the door to answer in Quentin's stead. He left it ajar, and spoke with calm politeness. “Phoebe. How can I help you?”

There was a moment of silence – perhaps she was wondering if she'd knocked at the wrong door – and then she exploded: “Where is he?”

“I'm overjoyed to see you're fine,” Daken said calmly, in a monotone voice. “I'm afraid Quentin isn't available at the moment.”

“I don't _care_ if his ass is up in the air!” The crude words cemented it: something had happened. Something had gone wrong when she'd woken up, something had happened to her sisters – the Phoenix had done something to them; _Quentin_ had done something to them. Quentin stood frozen, unable to speak, to move. “You can fuck him _later_ , prince Charming.” Showing a strength deriving, no doubt, from sheer rage, Phoebe shoved her way past Daken, and froze when she saw Quentin standing in the middle of the room; her lips curved in a snarl of pure _hatred_.

“Phoe–” a twin voice came from the corridor, and Celeste appeared as well, her presence sending a wave of relief over Quentin. But _Mindee?_ Where was Mindee? “Come with me, Phoebe, come on –”

“No fucking way,” Phoebe snarled, and took a step in his direction, but Daken caught her arm and held her firmly in place. She snarled again, a wordless animal sound, her eyes never leaving Quentin.

The two Cuckoos looked worse for wear; Quentin jumped his gaze from one to the other, trying to discern what had happened, trying to see if there were lines of grief on either of their faces; but no, Celeste looked resigned, and Phoebe violently furious, whereas their sister's death or something worse would have made mourning manifest on their features instead –

“Hey,” Quentin said weakly, “You're awake. Good. That's –”

“Shut _up_ , you fucking bastard!” Phoebe screamed, and Celeste winced, leaning on the doorway. The two of them were still wearing their hospital clothes.

“Phoebe, it _wasn't_ him, it's not –”

“But he's here now!” Phoebe struggled to free herself from Daken's grip, but he wouldn't let go, his fingers digging into her arms. No doubt he was hurting her.

“Hey,” Quentin said, looking at him, “Daken, there's no need to –”

“She's going to hurt you if I let her go,” Daken said, matter-of-factly.

“What is he, your _lapdog?_ ” Phoebe said viciously, enunciating the last word slowly, and: “Ah, right, he _is_ ,” she added, and Quentin felt the blood drain from his face. She bared her teeth. “Oh _yes_ , I know. We know. With how _loudly_ you were thinking, it would have been impossible not to! You and your pining and your _terror_ , Quintavius, oh you poor little rapist –”

“Phoebe!” Celeste slapped her hands to her mouth, eyes wide.

Daken shook Phoebe like a ragdoll. “Don't think I won't stab your pretty little face just because you've just come out of a _coma,_ ” he snarled.

“Wow, you're so _strong_ , taking it on helpless women, aren't you?” Phoebe snarled back. “You found each other, he has a _history_ of dating murderers.”

“Phoebe, _stop_ –” Celeste's voice didn't register immediately to Quentin – it came as if from far, far away, Phoebe's words clanging into his brain, making him hear angry, outraged screeches. Phoebe threw him a glance out of the corner of her eye, then smiled a terrible smile, rich with malice, and looked straight at Daken again.

“Be careful, he could kill you too.”

Daken's face contorted into something truly ugly, something that spoke of violence. “Get _out!_ ” he shouted, and hauled her towards the door with force – Quentin wanted to beg him to be gentler, but he couldn't speak, her terrible words echoing in his mind –

She stumbled out of the door past her sister, and threw one last glance at Quentin, her lips a vicious line. “I fear you'll be on your _own_ , Quintavius,” she spat, and then she was gone.

Celeste was still on the doorway, pale, leaning heavily on it as if she had no strength to move. Daken caught her just as she slid down abruptly, and he looked out of the door as he did so. “Don't you people have classes to teach? Mind your own business,” he growled to the corridor. No doubt the scene had caused the others to check what was happening – Billy, and Robert, and Colossus, and Idie, too –

Quentin stood frozen, unable to move or speak, a cacophony in his ears. Daken looked at him as he held Celeste upright, and spoke softly. “Quentin, it's all right.” His voice cut through the terrible sounds, reached him, calmed him. “I promise. Breathe. Can you breathe for me, Quentin? Please?”

Air went through his nose and Quentin choked out: “ _Mindee?_ ”

Celeste twisted in Daken's arms, looked at Quentin with infinite gentleness. “Fine. She's fine. We're _all_ fine, Quentin.”

“But –” relief washed over him, and he could breathe, oh, he could breathe – his legs gave way under him and he fell to his knees.

“What happened, Celeste?” Daken said, eyes never leaving Quentin. “If you're all _fine_ , what the hell was that?”

“We – we're fine.” Celeste repeated, voice firm, but with a waver beneath. “We're alive, and it wasn't _you_ that did this, Quentin. _I_ know that. And Mindee, too. Phoebe will calm down.”

“What did the _Phoenix_ do, then?” Quentin asked, resigned, terrified.

Celeste's features crumbled.

“It cut us out. From ourselves, from – from our powers.”

She slumped against Daken, a sob escaping her mouth.

“Our powers are gone.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Laura's fingers drummed on the table, shaking him from his thoughts once again. “Well, it's not about Eike, or you'd tell me.” He met her gaze levelly. Sometimes she was so terribly meddling. “Is it about Quentin?” she asked softly.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken muses; Quentin worries. Some conversations ensue...  
> ... and Billy discovers something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual warning: this is un-beta'd, please forgive eventual mistakes x_x and feel free to point anything out ^-^

17.

“And I've been taking chances,  
I've been setting myself up for the fall,  
I've been keeping secrets,  
from my heart and from my soul;  
going from road to road, bed to bed,  
lover to lover, black to red –”

Florence + the Machine – _Lover to lover_

 

 

God, Quentin's _voice_. When he'd snapped, his presence had exuded such a commanding aura – his eyes had turned black, the eyes of the Phoenix.

Daken had gone _limp_. Such a thing hadn't happened in years; he knew full well what it meant. And he'd seen in Quentin's horrified gaze that he'd understood as well –

“May I join you?”

Laura's voice shook Daken from his thoughts and he looked up from his solitary meal. Laura stood beside his table with a tray of food in her hands, her head cocked to the side, her hair falling loose on her shoulders. He hadn't joined her for training today, his mind focused on other things.

He smiled warmly as he made space for her on the table. “Of course! You needn't ask.”

Laura hummed and half-shrugged, then sat, busying herself with the cutlery for a few moments. “You seemed worlds away.”

“Just considering, sister.”

Laura nodded imperceptibly. “Is it something I can help you with?”

“I -” Daken grimaced. Surely she couldn't _help_ if she lacked a consistent chunk of information; but he didn't want her to know, didn't want her to worry. “I don't know.”

Laura nodded again. “Well, I'm here.”

“I know you are.” They ate in companionable silence for a while. Daken parsed his thoughts, tried to find something to present Laura that wouldn't be in any way connected to his impending death.

So many things had happened that very morning. He'd seen a side of Quentin that had been carefully hidden, something whose magnitude he hadn't grasped despite having sensed its presence. A pain that was still fresh. He'd seen Quentin's frantic panic at the mere mention of _knowing one's future_ – Daken's stomach churned.

He'd thought to lay it all on the table in order to calm Quentin down. For a second, he'd really considered telling Quentin that he was going to die soon: Kaplan would've probably seen that anyway, had Daken followed through with the offer of having his fate divined by the sorcerer. Quentin had seemed so scared of the things the Phoenix had said, that Daken had truly thought that _that_ could be the best solution.

And after all, it wasn't right that he was hiding it from Quentin. He'd thought it wouldn't matter, that he could give Quentin everything he could and take the blessed time Quentin was willing to give him; and he'd thought that he would eventually leave, leave before it was too late... but it was beginning to be more and more difficult even to entertain the mere thought. Time passed so quickly –

How could he hurt Quentin like that, now that he knew that the very same thoughts he himself had been gnawed by these past few months – the very same thoughts that had been at the brink of his mind ever since Eike's kidnapping – were the thoughts that had exacerbated Evan's mind?

That pain was still fresh for Quentin, and Daken couldn't bring himself to tell him. He'd accepted his fate, after all, and there was nothing that could be done about it. He was content with what he had here at the school. Some measure of peace. Amidst all his worries, Quentin was his haven.

Daken was finally breathing. There was no need to shatter that happiness, there was no need to ruin everything. There was no need to tell Quentin. Was there?

Laura's fingers drummed on the table, shaking him from his thoughts once again. “Well, it's not about Eike, or you'd tell me.” He met her gaze levelly. Sometimes she was so terribly meddling. “Is it about Quentin?” she asked softly.

Daken nodded.

Laura looked around the mostly empty cafeteria – it was quite late already. “Is he still in his room?”

“Yes,” Daken sighed. He hadn't come out ever since that morning.

“Don't tell me he beats himself over what happened to the Cuckoos.” Laura bit her lower lip.

“Then I'll have to stay silent.” Quentin had sat there on the floor, just staring at Celeste, pale and wide-eyed, for what had felt like centuries. He'd blabbered apologies upon apologies until the woman had knelt beside him and assured him that it was _fine_ , that she and her other sister didn't share Phoebe's rage, nor did they hold him at fault for the loss of their powers.

All for nothing: he'd sent her and Daken himself _away_ from the room.

“He -” Laura hesitated, “He always takes a lot upon his shoulders.”

“I noticed.” Daken shut his eyes and passed a hand over his face. Quentin was overwhelmed with guilt. It was a feeling Daken knew well; he wanted to relieve the man of that pain for as long as he could.

“He'll be fine,” Laura said offhandedly, as if to reassure him, but her voice was far too light. “He does it from time to time.” The thought made Daken's blood boil; and her calmness was insulting. “Daken, you don't need to –”

“I _do_ ,” Daken snapped his eyes open, “If no one else in this ridiculous school does.” It was unfair of him to say so; he'd seen both Broo and Okonkwo approach Quentin's room. He'd heard that some exchange had taken place. Yet, Quentin wasn't a child, and if he preferred to be left alone, it was well within his rights. That, too, was a need Daken knew well.

But the man had to _eat_.

“I'm bringing him dinner as soon as I'm finished here,” Daken took a sip of water, “And I hope to make him see reason. The – what is it?” Laura had brought a hand to her mouth, but the smile she'd hidden hadn't escaped his gaze.

“You're bringing him dinner?” Laura asked softly, an eyebrow raised. “Why, Daken, you're a keeper.”

A keeper. A nice concept, too bad it took into account time that wasn't there. Daken tried to smile at the affectionate jab, but he felt the muscles around his mouth stiffen. “Don't be ridiculous, Laura, it's just common sense. He can't function without food.”

His sister was too attentive to his mood shifts: she furrowed her brows, and straightened up, and reached over the table to catch his hand. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

She clicked her tongue. “Daken,” she said quietly. “You can tell me.”

 _No_ , Daken sighed, _I can't. There's no need for you to worry about this_. “It's just – something Quentin said, about – about Evan.”

“Ah.” Laura cocked her head to the side. “It was terrible,” she added, gaze remote. _Angel_ , Daken recalled; Evan had killed the young man from the past – _accidentally_ , according to Quentin. Laura had had a brief relationship of romantic nature with the time-displaced mutant; they'd kept in touch. When the news of his death had arrived, Laura had happened to be with Daken; he'd held her in his arms as she cried quietly.

No, Laura hadn't surely mourned Evan's death. And Daken... he recalled the young man from his time at the school; it was always difficult to reconcile that soft-spoken, terribly intrusive kid with the monster that had provoked so much destruction, that had killed _Logan_.

“What about him, then?” Laura's gaze was clearer now, devoid of grief. But Evan wasn't the issue. Evan's ghost wasn't the problem.

“Nothing.” Daken shook his head and changed the subject, hoping he would manage to keep it vague enough. “Laura. What would you feel, if you were to discover that someone you care about has been keeping something from you?” It was the constant of his life; he'd found himself both on the receiving and the giving end, more times than he could count. And still he kept doing it – he was doing it to his whole family. Secrets upon secrets, and now he was lying to Quentin too.

But he was _protecting_ his family. He _was_. Wasn't he?

“What would I feel?” Laura crossed her arms. “What would you feel?”

“I –” He had the answer, because he'd lived through it. “I'd hate it. I'd be disappointed. Hurt. Full of hate.” _But this is for a good reason. I'm not deceiving anyone with the intent to harm. It's_ _different_.

“Ah.” Laura held up a hand, palm up, as if to tell him _'there's your answer'_.

Daken shook his head. “We're not talking about me. What would you feel?”

“What have you been hiding?” she countered, voice low. “That's the point. It all boils down to what is being kept hidden, isn't it? You wouldn't ask if you weren't doubting your resolution.”

“We're talking hypothetically here.”

“Of course.” Laura cocked an eyebrow. “How silly of me. _Hypothetically_ ,” she sighed, “I'd tell you that it depends on the secret. I'd try to understand the reason for it. I'd assume that, if we're talking about someone I care about, that person wouldn't want to deliberately hurt me. I'd be disappointed, yes. But I _would_ try to understand.”

“You're some sort of saint, then.”

“I do try.” Laura shook her head. “Daken, I'm sure you mean no harm, but I'm also pretty sure it's not _my_ reaction that worries you.”

It was only partly true, but Laura had sniffed the trail.

Sure enough, she lowered her voice even more, and leant towards him. “What have you been hiding from Quentin?”

Daken sighed. “Your accusation wounds me –”

“Daken, for Christ's sake,” she hissed. “I'm here. You can talk to me. Tell me what worries you. I'm here for you, brother, you _know_ that –” she reached over the table once more to catch his hand, and he ached to tell her, but he _didn't want_ her to worry.

But maybe he could mold his wording as to broach the subject without betraying his knowledge of his future. Maybe he could take the help she offered without her being the wiser.

“It's not a secret,” he began, feigning reluctance, “It's all in the light of day.” It _was_ , in a way. “Quentin behaves as if he doesn't even see it. But it's there, it's –”

“What?”

“My _age_ .” And this was true, too – in a way, it really was. Quentin was blind to it. It was affecting them both, but not even _once_ had he commented upon it.

“Your –” Laura grimaced and squeezed his hand. “Daken. Is this about your – your supposed impending death again?”

If only it had been just a delusion of his. But no, Laura didn't need to know. “I'm _aging_.”

“People age, Daken, it's normal. It's something we all face –”

“Not you, you don't.”

“Oh, come on. I _will_ die, eventually. Logan did,” she added softly. “And it's not like we live quiet lives.”

He nodded. “Yes, I know that. But you still have a long life ahead of you. Pending _accidents_. You're young. You're…”

“I'm Quentin's age,” Laura said quietly.

“ _Yes_ .” Daken bit his tongue. It was going in a strange direction, but he could still have her opinion on the matter – on something close to it, at least. “Would _you_ entertain the notion of having a relationship with someone that could be your _grand-father_ –”

“More like uncle, maybe,” she bit her lower lip. “Daken –”

“It's the same. Someone that older than you.”

“If I loved them. Yes.” She didn't even hesitate, her gaze clear. She was looking straight at him with some flicker in her eyes. _Love_? That was - preposterous. He... didn't know what Quentin felt. He cared about Daken, yes; that much Daken knew. That much was more than enough for Daken.

“Even if you _knew_ that time is running out for you? Wouldn't you want to enter that kind of relationship with your eyes wide open – knowing that it would be fickle? Wouldn't you want to have your eyes opened for you, if you were being telling yourself lies?”

She inhaled sharply then, and held her breath for a few long seconds. He held himself still; perhaps he'd said too much? Perhaps she'd realized –

She exhaled slowly, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand. “You're – at a point in your life when you're more aware of your mortality. And Quentin isn't there yet. Your experiences are – different. I get your doubts, I do. But, Daken – everybody dies. You can't just draw a line and stop living in fear of that.”

“I'm not _stopping living_ .” He bit the inside of his cheek. “If I had, I wouldn't have led Quentin to believe there could be – something. I'd have stopped him. I _should_ have. But I'm -” He couldn't bear her soft gaze. “I want this,” his voice, to his horror, broke slightly. He hadn't meant for her to see any crack.

She squeezed his hand. “Then _take_ it,” she whispered urgently.

“It's selfish of me. He should be with someone closer to his age. Someone he wouldn't _have_ to see die –” he covered his eyes with a hand.

“In our line of work, anyone can die at _any_ age.” Laura murmured. “Look at Alison. Evan! The Original Five. I witnessed an entire bus of teenagers die once, students like me. Death _happens_. You're –” she lowered her voice even more. “You're worried about what he'd do if you died.”

How arrogant of him, truly, to think that his death could affect Quentin. To think that they would still be together – such an odd word – by the time of his death.

How arrogant of him to think he could put all the conditions on how this ought to end.

“I've seen how fiercely he mourns.”

“Mourning is a part of life, too. You don't get to dictate everything, Daken, that's _not_ how a relationship works.” Her voice was so firm that he looked at her again, hit by a sudden sense of shame.

“I know. I'm trying. I don't –” _I never truly had one_ , God helped him, and he was treating it like he'd always done, searching for means to terminate it. Was that what he was doing? Was he trying to pull away as he used to do, only with less blood or heartbreak – with just a little more consideration for the other party?

Laura's gaze softened utterly. “Daken. Quentin is a smart man. I do _not_ think he's lying to himself. Your age simply doesn't bother him. Why should it? Why should he think of death, when he can think of life again? Why would you want him to?”

 _Because it_ is _coming._

But it would be selfish of him to add pain to what they'd been sharing just because of it. It would be selfish. Yes, he was sure now: Laura had only confirmed it. He could shoulder it for Quentin, and treasure every day that came, one day at a time. They'd discussed it that very morning, after all. All would be well.

It was better for it to come unannounced: a mercy he had the opportunity and obligation to extend to those he cared about.

 

* * *

 

Daken reached the second floor and walked to Quentin's room paying close attention to the Bamfs infesting the corridor. Usually they bounced around the premises at this hour, not inside the building. Of course they'd had to choose just tonight to change their habits, when he was holding a tray of food – a simple soup and a bottle of water. If the accursed things tried to take a hold of it, he would have stabbed them.

He reached Quentin's door and, precariously balancing the tray over one palm, he knocked. Quentin was inside: he could smell him. But he didn't answer.

“Quentin?” Daken spoke quietly; he had no intention of gaining the attention of the occupants of the other rooms. The Bamfs were gathered at the end of the corridor, close to the window, and didn't appear to be preoccupied with the food, but Daken eyed them warily all the same. “Quentin, I brought you something to eat. Please, open the door.”

Silence; Daken heard Quentin's steady heartbeat. The man was pretty close to the door as well.

“Quentin, I sense your scent, I know you're in there. Look -” Daken looked around. “I'd leave it here, but I don't want the Bamfs to take it. You need to eat. _Please_ , just open the door. I won't stay if you don't want me to.”

A door opened, but of course it wasn't Quentin's; Daken turned to see what nosy X-Man had nothing better to do than minding other's business, and found himself face to face with Okonkwo. The woman's eyes widened almost comically as she trailed her gaze all over him.

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Is something the matter, Oya?” Her codename snapped her out of her frankly annoying expression of surprise and she shook her head.

“Just keeping an eye on them.” She pointed at the Bamfs with a thumb. She was a bad liar, but she might not be entirely lying.

“Has something excited them?”

She wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged. “Oh, they always do it when Billy meditates.” She pursed her lips just as she'd done a second before threatening him when she'd ambushed him in front of his room, but then she bit her lower lip. “Good luck with that,” she nodded at him.

The fury was apparently offering a branch of olives.

Sighing, he took it. “Thanks. Good night.”

“Good night.” She retreated to her room and closed the door.

As if he'd been listening to the conversation outside his room, Quentin chose that moment to open the door. Daken turned to look at him, and bit his tongue at the sight.

Quentin stood in the doorway, his hair as unruly as that morning. It wasn't the only thing that hadn't changed: he hadn't get dressed, only donned a large t-shirt. Coupled with the boxers, the picture he offered really painted him as quite younger than he was – something that the lack of his sunglasses only exacerbated.

“Hey.” Daken offered a tentative smile and showed him the tray. “Dinner?”

Quentin eyed it. “I – you didn't have to.”

“Nonsense.” Daken tried to read Quentin's state of mind, but the man's eyes weren't clouded – they seemed pretty clear. “You need to eat, Quentin. Take it from someone who knows how it is to spend days without eating because something eats at you,” he added quietly.

Quentin nodded firmly and relieved him of the tray. “And who was your angel?”

“Maiko, of course.” Daken smiled at the memory. “Oh, I'm an angel now?”

“You must admit you look pretty angelic.” _When I was younger, maybe,_ Daken thought, but bit down the remark. Quentin hesitated on the doorway.

“Do you want me to leave?” Daken took half a step back.

“No.” Quentin squared his shoulders and walked back inside. “Come in. I'm glad you're here.”

“I'm glad you're glad,” Daken said softly, and followed. After a questioning look at Quentin and the nod from the man, he closed the door.

The room was the same as that morning, the duvet still a heap on the bed; Quentin's trousers had been folded and placed on a chair. Daken wondered what had kept the man in the room... what thoughts were eating at him.

Quentin set the tray on his desk. “I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't want to leave, and would you _believe_ I don't have your number? I guess it was unnecessary, you're here, aren't you, and we weren't speaking, and then we were, and –” Ah, he was babbling. It wasn't a good sign.

“Quentin,” he interrupted the man, and Quentin broke off, his heart skipping a beat. Definitely not a good sign. “I'm here now. What did you want to talk about?”

“I – ah. Sit.” Quentin gestured to a chair, which was occupied by books and the like, then he motioned to another one, that was covered by clothing. He stood there like he didn't know what to do – moving everything away with the telekinesis should be the first thing to cross his mind, but he looked terribly young and defeated in that moment. Daken sat on the bed, which seemed to fluster Quentin even more: “Oh,” he exhaled, standing rooted to the spot.

Daken folded his arms. “You should eat,” he said quietly. “I asked Broo what to bring you.”

“Thanks.”

“It's nothing.” Daken looked away; something in the way Quentin was looking at him disquieted him.

The room still smelt of sex, and Quentin hadn't showered either. Daken's own scent was all over the room, all over the man. The stink of brimstone coming from the corridor couldn't cover it.

Quentin took a breath. “I –”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Daken breathed. “Eat first.”

Something worried Quentin, and it didn't take a genius to understand it wasn't just the Cuckoos' predicament. Once again, he was about to express doubts over what they were doing. It was obvious. It seemed they couldn't just have something simple. Damn Romulus, damn him to hell and beyond, may his rotten soul have been torn apart and burned. If only Quentin hadn't snapped like that that morning, everything would have been fine.

Didn't Quentin see that Daken didn't care about any of that? He'd told him as much, and he'd thought he'd been pretty clear. He _trusted_ Quentin with this. Quentin's reaction that morning had only confirmed that his trust was _well placed_.

A certainty that obviously Quentin didn't share. “I can eat later,” he said, “Look –”

“Quentin –”

“No, please, let me talk.” Quentin walked the short distance between them and stood in front of him, so Daken was left with no choice than looking up at him again. Quentin looked terribly resolute – so achingly beautiful. “I've been a selfish asshole.”

Daken blinked. Of all the things Quentin had been, _selfish_ wasn't one of them. In fact, he'd been the exact opposite. Daken shook his head, opened his mouth, but Quentin placed a finger over his lips.

It shut him up all right, the contact electrical.

Quentin stared down at his own finger as if it had caught fire. “Sorry –”

“It's all right.” Daken brushed his lips against it in a soft kiss. “Tell me how you've been selfish. I won't interrupt you, I promise.”

Quentin inhaled and made as if to move his hand away, but Daken caught him by the wrist, his thumb massaging gently the skin there. Quentin's pulse was steady. That calmness worried him, but he had to let Quentin get it out of his system – whatever it was.

“We,” Quentin spoke through clenched teeth, “should have _waited_.”

Daken blinked, taken aback by the vehemence.

“I should have waited,” Quentin went on, words rushing out of his mouth now, “It would have been better, but no, I just went _on_ with it, and I kept doing it, I kept putting you in that situation, but I shouldn't have. I thought it was fine, but it wasn't, not really, not after this morning.” _Ah, I knew it_ , Daken thought bitterly, but let the man vent. “I should have controlled myself better, _we should have waited_ .” Hearing him muse about the possibility of _not_ having sex was eerie. _Wait_ , he said, as if it even were an _option_ \- as if he didn't get hard _every single time_ Daken touched him. He had needs, after all, and Daken was more than happy to oblige as best as he could. Why should he withhold the man the release he needed? “It's not right for me to ask anything of you when we don't even know if you can say no –”

“Quentin, I _do_ say no, I _have_ more than once –”

“Please, you said you'd let me finish.” Quentin grimaced. “I know, I _know_ , but at the same time how can we be sure? This morning, you – you just shut down at my word! Do you know how _frightening_ it was?”

He knew. He'd seen it in Quentin's eyes, in Quentin's entire body-language, heard it in the waver of his voice, smelt it in the shifting of his scent.

It had also sent a shiver down Daken's spine, one he craved.

Daken brought Quentin's hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. “It's all right.”

“No, it's not.” Quentin kept his hand there. “We should have waited, that's _it_ . I made a mess. And now I ruined everything, I should have – I should have resolved everything _before_ the Election. I'm sorry, it's my fault.” The Election? What was he talking about? Daken cocked his head to the side, waiting for him to continue. “I should have _at least_ waited till the Cuckoos woke up, and instead I didn't, because you're amazing, and I couldn't believe – but I should have. I -” Quentin shook his head. “I've... I've been wanting to ask them for a while now, ask them to – to remove the trigger from your mind. I should have approached you _before_ the Election, I should have told you! But I waited, and now they – they can't anymore –” he broke off. Ah. That was what had worried him, why he'd been so interested in the Cuckoos' health these past few days, always inquiring after them to Broo. “Now I'm –” Quentin passed his free hand over his face. “Now I'm the only option possible, and I _swore_ I would never access your mind without your permission again. There's Jean, but – I don't know how she would feel about doing me a favor -” that was one way to put it; the woman still wouldn't speak with Quentin. “That's not a favor to _me_ , maybe if you ask her she'll do it, but – don't you see it? I _ruined_ it. I was _selfish_. I should have _told_ _you_ there was this option. I think it would be delicate work, but it _is_ doable... I'm sure of it. I – I don't know how you feel about me doing it, but I will, if you trust me to.” _I'd trust you with my life._ Daken stared up at Quentin, at his pale contrite face. _But I can't let you do it_. “I should have told you,” Quentin repeated urgently, and stared down at him, his eyes feverish.

Daken brushed his fingers against the back of Quentin's hand. “Are you finished?”

“I –” Quentin bit his lower lip. “Yes.”

Daken kept caressing Quentin's hand. “You should have told me. Yes.”

Quentin nodded, terrible resignation in his eyes.

“You should have told me,” Daken repeated quietly, but firmly, “So that I could tell you right away that I want no telepath in my mind _ever again_.”

Quentin started. “But –”

“It has been tampered with _enough_ already,” Daken continued, “And I have no desire to repeat the experience. Besides,” he added softly, “It's a minefield in there. Xavier once tried to help me,” the corrupt concept of _help_ he and Logan had entertained at the time, anyway, “and he suffered a stroke. It would _not_ be nice and easy, Quentin.”

“I'm more powerful than Xavier,” Quentin blurted out.

Daken smiled. “And I bet you're just as humble.” He cocked an eyebrow, but softened the blow by circling his fingertips over the back of Quentin's hand. “I don't want you to get hurt in the process.”

 _And I most certainly don't want you or anyone else to_ stumble _upon my knowledge of my future_.

Quentin bit his lower lip. “If you don't trust me, there _is_ Jean, and –”

“Quentin, you maddening man.” Daken rolled his eyes. “I do trust you. I simply do _not_ want any telepath sneaking around, at the risk of doing damage to _me_ and to _themselves_.”

“Okay.” Quentin murmured. “I wouldn't have dared do it anyway, you know, not without your permission.”

“I know,” he reassured the man, and squeezed his hand. “I do.”

“Okay.” Quentin's voice was small. “So – if you don't want to risk it – maybe we should –” he sounded utterly miserable, and Daken realized what he was about to say.

“ _No_ ,” this time, he was surprised by the vehemence in his _own_ voice. “Not like this. I understand if you tire of me, I wouldn't object –” But wasn't that the case? Quentin was frustrated because Daken's problems didn't permit Quentin to enjoy their relationship as he _should_ , as it was _normal_ for a man his age –

Quentin widened his eyes. “ _Tire_ of you? I'd never -”

“Don't leave me because of something so _trivial_ –”

Quentin started. “It's not trivial! My God, Daken, it's your _mind_ we're talking about!”

“My mind's _fine!_ ” Daken shot back, and Quentin stared at him wide-eyed. “It _is!_ How can't it be, when you're always so careful? Quentin, you have no idea of how respectful you're being, you can't do more than that.” He tried to soften his features, to calm the panicked tumult he was experiencing, but urgency was pulsing in his veins.

Quentin shook his head. “Of course I can. And I don't _want_ to leave you, but –”

“Dammit, come here.” Daken yanked his hand, and Quentin stumbled but held his place. “Just sit with me,” Daken begged. Quentin stood still, but eventually capitulated, and sat on the bed, at a very _proper_ distance from Daken. Daken would have laughed hysterically, hadn't the situation been twisting his guts. How could he make Quentin see that it was _fine_?

He looked at the man; from this angle he could admire the lovely constellation of freckles on Quentin's sternum. Quentin was staring at him quite seriously, his fingers twitching in Daken's hand.

He was so beautiful. It brought a tightness to Daken's chest, how perfect he was. How careful.

“Quentin.” Daken took a breath. “I'm perfectly satisfied with how you've been acting. You press for nothing, you respect my desires.”

Quentin bit his lower lip. “I –”

“Are you dissatisfied with anything I've done?”

Quentin widened his eyes just slightly, as if the question surprised him. “No.” He smelt sincere.

“Then what's the problem?”

“The problem,” Quentin sighed, “The problem is that I don't know the extent of those triggers of yours. What if I do or say something and –”

“I think we've worked it out quite well so far,” Daken said quietly, “This morning you realized immediately. You were upset, but you modified your behavior _immediately_. Just as you back down immediately when I tell you to. What more do you think you could possibly do?”

Quentin turned his head, avoiding his gaze. “I don't know,” he exhaled eventually, “I just think I should do _more_ –”

“I don't ask that of you.” Daken brushed his fingers over the back of Quentin's hand. “It's fine, Quentin, truly. I'm fine with you. I feel good.”

Quentin returned his gaze to him; there was a smile on his face, but it appeared wary. “Me too.”

“I _trust_ you.”

Quentin inhaled. “What if I –”

“You won't,” Daken spoke with firm certainty, “And if you will, I know that you'll stop. That you'll realize. I _know_.”

Quentin hung his head. “I wish I was as confident about this as you. I don't want to _hurt_ you, Daken, I –”

“Hey.” Daken drew closer and raised his hand, brought two fingers under Quentin's chin to tilt up his head. Quentin's eyes were misty with tears. “You won't.” Quentin bit his lower lip again. He looked so terribly, achingly vulnerable. Daken wanted to wrap his arms around him, to hold him close to his heart and never let him go. To lay with him pressed close to his chest and listen to his breathing, to cradle him in his arms and lavish every inch of his skin. It made his heart ache. “I –” he breathed, and Quentin blinked the tears away.

“Yes?”

“I'd like to kiss you, Quentin. If that's all right with you.”

Blinking again, Quentin didn't answer right away, but kept his silence for a moment, his breathing quiet. The moment seemed fragile, ephemeral. Daken's chest ached, so, so much. How could it ache so?

“Yes,” Quentin exhaled, “Please.”

Drawing closer still, Daken brushed his lips over Quentin's eyes first, wanting to wipe that sadness away from them. Quentin sighed softly, so softly, and his free hand rose to tug gently at the collar of Daken's shirt as Daken placed gentle kisses all over the man's face. God, how good it felt, to feel him so close, to hear his heartbeat. Daken wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders to press him closer to himself, so close it was intoxicating. Quentin whimpered when Daken finally brought his attention to the man's lips, his fingers tightening around the fabric of Daken's shirt. Daken kissed him carefully, gently, moving his lips just barely against Quentin's. He could spend eons like this, in this bliss. He could spend all eternity holding him close, revering his skin. He wished to worship every inch of him.

Quentin was growing restless in his arms, his breathing quickened, his kisses feverish; but still he kept his mouth closed, always following Daken's lead. How, _how_ could he control himself so? What had Daken done to deserve this? Daken parted his lips to deepen the kiss and Quentin let out a strangled moan and responded with a terrible intensity, tongue sliding into Daken's mouth, fist yanking Daken's shirt. Daken let him, because this was good too, this felt good, this he could still do, this he'd never tired of, he'd have never tired of.

But Quentin, being the healthy man he was, was getting hard as well. Dammit, had there really been a time when a few kisses were all it took?

It'd have to be quick. Quentin hadn't even eaten his meal yet, and he needed to. Daken let go of Quentin's hand and went straight to business, touching Quentin's stomach through his shirt's fabric in a slow downward caress. Quentin gasped, broke the kiss for a moment, and tried to look at him, their noses bumping. “I –”

“Let me,” Daken whispered against his lips; he stilled his fingers in proximity of Quentin's boxers, waiting for permission.

Quentin nodded furiously, resuming the kiss, chanting his assent whenever he stopped for breath. Daken slid his fingers past the waistband and wrapped them around Quentin's length, stroking quickly and precisely. Quentin whimpered, his kisses desperate; his free hand was scrambling for purchase on the sheets. Daken tried to discreetly put some distance between them as he stroked Quentin's cock – but it _wasn't_ enough, and soon Quentin found and grabbed Daken's thigh, his fingers run upwards –

Daken caught Quentin's lower lip between his teeth and bit gently as he stopped his own hand. “No.”

Quentin's heart skipped a beat; his hand stilled on Daken's thigh. Satisfied and relieved, Daken resumed his ministrations, augmenting the tempo of his strokes, searching Quentin's tongue with his. His ears were overwhelmed by the fast-paced beating of Quentin's heart and by the exquisite noises he made as he grew close to climax.

But with a groan, Quentin placed his hand over Daken's forearm and broke the kiss as he pushed against Daken's chest with the other palm. “ _Stop_ ,” he breathed, and Daken stilled his hand and tilted his head back to look at Quentin.

Quentin was flushed, his cock pulsing in protest in Daken's hand: his body ached with the need for release, its secrets were no such thing to Daken; Quentin's entire being was tended towards the building orgasm. But oh, the resolve in the man's eyes was entirely focused elsewhere. He was achingly beautiful; it sent shivers down Daken's spine.

Daken retired his hand from Quentin's boxers and released the man from his embrace. He waited for Quentin to speak.

When Quentin found his voice, it was quivering with strained desire. “We need to talk about that, too.”

“About what?” Daken stalled – but it was time, wasn't it?

Quentin's heartbeat was still wild, but his voice was a tad steadier. “When I touch you. Do you feel _compelled_ to do certain things? Is that why you stop me? To counter that effect?”

Daken blinked in surprise; it wasn't what he'd expected Quentin to say. “No.”

“Please don't hide it from me.”

Quentin appeared to believe that Daken's libido was affected by the trigger. Reality was far more mundane. “No, Quentin, _no_ ,” he reassured the man. “Absolutely not.”

Quentin's face was regaining its normal color, though his cheeks were still flushed. “Okay. What am I doing wrong, then?”

“What?”

“I assume I'm doing something wrong. Please tell me what is it, and I'll stop,” Quentin said, urgency in his voice. “I will. But I need you to tell me _what_ am I doing wrong.”

“Quentin, you're doing _nothing_ wrong.” Daken shook his head. This wasn't something he'd expected he would face, truly. With all the conversations he'd never faced with Quentin, and the ones he'd had already – this one had been pushed at the back of his mind, a subject so ridiculous and _obvious_ that he had no desire to discuss. “You're perfect.”

“If my touch is unwelcome –”

“Your touch isn't _unwelcome_ ,” Daken fought the bubble of hysterical laughter rushing up his throat. “It's more than welcome.”

Quentin shook his head, probably as frustrated as Daken felt. “I'm not – you're not -” He squinted his eyes, even wriggled his hands. “You don't _enjoy_ it.”

“Quentin.” Daken reached out to cup Quentin's face with both hands. “I enjoy it very much,” he spoke slowly and clearly, hoping the man would understand. “I enjoy it when you touch me. I enjoy touching you.” He gently passed his fingers over Quentin's cheeks. “I enjoy holding you, and kissing you. I enjoy giving you pleasure –”

“But –” Quentin interrupted him, “You don't let me pleasure _you_.”

The hysterical laughter came out and he managed to bite it back: it sounded like a chuckle. “Really? I must've been dreaming tonight, then. It was a very nice dream.”

Quentin let out an exasperated sound. “ _Most times_ you don't let me pleasure you. You stop me before I can do anything, before I can get you hard. It's fine,” he added in a haste, “It's fine if you don't want me to, but please tell me why, talk to me... I don't want to cause you any discomfort!” He looked so earnest and _concerned_ and dammit, damn it all.

“It is _I_ that causes you discomfort,” Daken detected the bitterness in his own voice - bitterness at himself. “I know you want to have proper sex, Quentin. I'm sorry I –”

“ _I_ want?” Quentin exhaled, wide-eyed, and caught Daken's wrists. Too late did Daken realise that his wording had been clumsy at best. “As in, _you_ _don't_?” Quentin sounded horrified; and Daken hadn't meant to say that.

Quentin didn't give him the time to salvage anything, his hands shaking around Daken's wrists. “Is any of this _okay_ for you? I thought you would've told me if there was _anything_ you didn't want to do –”

“I do,” Daken said forcefully, blood thumping in his ears. “I _do_ tell you –”

“You just said you didn't want to have sex.”

“That's _not_ what I said,” Daken shook his head. _That's_ not – _that's not the point_ . He inhaled and tried to speak calmly. “I do enjoy sexual acts. I definitely enjoy having sex with you.” Perhaps he spoke _too_ calmly, his voice too level, because Quentin had gradually paled.

“Jesus Christ, don't say it that _clinically._ ” Quentin shut his eyes. “It's all right if you _don't_ want to. I'm not a sex-crazed monster –”

“You get hard pretty frequently. It's normal, nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I'm not ashamed, I'm worried. About _you_ . About you doing things you _don't_ want to just because _I_ do –”

Daken fought the surge of annoyance. He'd explained, time and again, that that _wasn't_ how the conditioning worked. Not with Quentin, at least. It wasn't Quentin's fault that he was so oblivious and disrespectful and pushed so much on the subject, because he did it out of pure worry. It was _Daken's_ fault, because he'd been damn nebulous and unclear.

“Quentin.” Daken inhaled deeply a couple of times to calm down. It wouldn't do to affront this conversation while upset. “I enjoy touching you. I _do_ . And I enjoy you touching _me_ . If I don't look like it, if I stop you before you can ' _get me hard_ ', it's because I'm _eighty-five_ years old.” He inhaled again and spoke before Quentin could say anything else, because he had to say it all in one piece or else he wouldn't be able to. “I thought you'd realized; I shouldn't have taken it for granted. My fault. As you know, my healing factor doesn't work properly. It hasn't been for years. It takes care of my organs. It concentrates on wounds. The _tissues_ are another thing entirely –”

“You're insecure about your aspect?” Quentin blurted out. How could the man be so intelligent and yet miss the point _entirely_? Daken wanted to hide in a hole. “I like your wrinkles, they're lovely. I like every inch of you, Daken, I do –”

_Oh, for fuck's sake._

“I _look_ fifty, Quentin,” Daken exploded, “And my body _behaves as such!_ ”

Quentin started, taken aback by Daken's outburst. Daken waited; Quentin blinked. Any moment now –

“Oh.” Quentin's eyes widened. “Oh!” They widened some more, quite a feat. “You're in andropause.”

Hearing it said out loud by Quentin wasn't as terrible as Daken had thought it would be, but Quentin said it quite matter-of-factly, as if he didn't _grasp_ it.

“Quentin,” Daken said wearily. “Do you understand what it means?”

“I understand that if you want to punch me in the face, you should go for it.” Quentin nodded to himself, his grip on Daken's wrists loosened. He looked at Daken with clear serious eyes. “That was it?”

“ _That was_ –” Daken stared at him, dumbfounded. ' _That was it?'_ Had he nothing else to say? No doubts? No _complaints_ ? He was just looking at Daken with infinite patience, his fingers slowly caressing the backs of Daken's hands. “Are you _fine_ with it?”

“Of course.” Quentin shrugged, and turned his head slightly to press a kiss to Daken's right palm. “Why shouldn't I be?”

“Quentin, I'm not sure you understand –”

“I almost thought I was forcing you,” Quentin looked at him again, the softest gaze in his eyes, “I thought you were unwilling, or unsure of the effects and the extent of your conditioning. This? This doesn't matter to me.”

What, Daken thought as his chest tightened painfully, had he _ever_ done to deserve the man in front of him?

“I should have told you before you entertained such doubts,” Daken spoke quietly. “I caused you pain.” Even more pain than the man was already in. That was unacceptable; terribly inconsiderate of him.

Quentin smiled a tired smile. “You were embarrassed. I get it. It's all right.” He caught Daken's wrist to kiss him again, this time on the back of his hand. Daken's chest ached, so, so, so much. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was all right. Yes. Quentin wasn't shocked or disgusted by it. They could work it out. Maybe he could even tell Quentin about the shiver down his spine.

He let go of Quentin to fold his hands on his lap. “Only if you eat.”

Quentin laughed. It was bright and good: his voice had lost the weight it had carried up until that moment. “Yeah, okay.” He got up, a huge beautiful smile on his face, and reached the desk. Daken watched as he floated the bottle of water away with his telekinesis and then placed his hands on the bowl.

The temperature in the room rose imperceptibly. Daken caught up a second later.

“Are you _microwaving_ the soup?” he sniggered. He felt a weird lightness in his chest.

“Just heating it up a bit.” Quentin turned, an eyebrow cocked up. “We made it turn cold.”

“Such a crime.”

“Well, what do the flames serve for?” _I do have something in mind_ , Daken thought, but kept the words to himself. Quentin grinned at him, unaware of the image Daken's mind had just conjured. “They're especially useful in winter, I tell you.”

“I'm sure. You must be quite the exhibitionist.”

“The worst.” Quentin hoisted himself onto the desk, the bowl floating in front of him, and caught the spoon from the tray. Always with the telekinesis, he removed the lid from the bowl; the strong scent of garlic filled the room immediately and went to battle the stench of brimstone for most terrible affront to Daken's nostrils. Quentin's stomach grumbled. “Ah, my favorite.”

“You _will_ brush your teeth after that.” Daken wrinkled his nose and Quentin grinned.

“Yessir.”

“Careful, that's a kink of mine,” Daken said casually, just to see how the subject would be received, and Quentin didn't react in any visible way as he shoved a spoonful of that stinking soup into his mouth – but his scent marked him as clearly interested.

Well, he'd already noticed that Quentin had an affinity for such things, in the heat of the moment. It sat well with Daken.

“I'll be extra-careful,” Quentin said; amusement and something else gave a distinct waver to his voice. He was still half-hard from earlier, but didn't seem preoccupied with that at the moment; he took another spoonful. “It wouldn't, ah, do to be ravished while I'm eating.” There was a question in his voice, too, a curiosity reined in, a soft firm reassurance. He wouldn't press for Daken to say anything.

He was too good to be true. Simply too much.

He deserved the truth.

If Daken wasn't going to be honest about the rest – if he was to keep protecting Quentin from what was coming – he should at least be honest about this.

“I can't,” he said quietly as Quentin took another spoonful. The man looked at him, no expectation, no judgment, just waiting for him to elaborate. Daken crossed his arms. “Not like you'd want me to.” He recalled Quentin's whimpering the night before, his desperate request: ' _Fuck me'_ . His body under Daken's, the way he moved – how he'd offered to renounce to the lube, so badly was he craving Daken. And the truth was that Daken _couldn't_. Once the lube was taken out of the equation, Daken had very few options – at least he could still perform great oral sex. “I have to go about it in a... roundabout way,” he explained, words being drawn out of him now.

He looked away from Quentin, to the bookshelf. It was easier. Quentin kept eating quietly as he spoke slowly.

“Take it slow, use other means to take to the edge – I could be soft again by the time you're there. If I'm not, I have to time it perfectly... you've seen how quickly I come. This is all assuming I do get hard. It takes too much time and I don't know when or _if_ I will. That's why I stop you when you try to touch me, I – it's frustrating. For me and for my partner.” He grimaced. It was more than frustrating, it was infuriating. “I prefer to take care of my partner when it happens. It saves time and wounded pride.”

Not that he'd had _that_ many partners ever since the problem had manifested. Not that he'd had much willingness to, after Eike's kidnapping.

“That isn't to say I _can't_ pleasure you,” he reassured the man, “but it's a long messy affair, and... I'm willing to try, if you don't lose your patience.”

“I'm a strong advocator of prolonged foreplay,” Quentin said quietly. Startled, Daken looked back at him, but the man was looking down at his bowl. “I love it. You told me yourself, no?” He looked up at Daken, a smirk on his face, but he wasn't laughing _at_ Daken. “ _Lubed up slow and good_ , that's how I like it.” He shivered. Those were the words Daken had teased him with that very night. “You could make me come just with that, probably,” Quentin continued, his heartbeat wild, a blush suffusing his cheeks. “Fuck, you nearly made me come just by _saying_ it.”

“Did I?” Daken was mildly amused by the confession; at the same time, his flippant words hid his own incredulity at how blasé Quentin was being, at how well he was receiving the no doubt annoying news.

“ _Fuck_ , yes.” Quentin hid his eagerness by resuming eating.

There was a definite swell in his boxers – the scent was unmistakable. He wasn't turned _off_ . He was _still_ aroused.

“You're all right with this,” came out of Daken's mouth then, surprised and slightly exhilarated. “You _are_ really all right with this.”

Quentin stilled. He must have detected something in his voice – the sheer relief at the fact that Quentin didn't _care_ about it, that he was content with what they were doing, that his affection towards Daken wasn't _based_ on the sex. Yes, he _did_ want sex – as had everyone Daken had ever met – but he was willing to negotiate the terms, and was _fine_ with Daken's problem.

Quentin looked up from his bowl, the softest expression on his face, and looked at Daken in a way that made Daken's chest ache painfully. “Of course. I told you.”

“From the start, you were fine with it,” Daken couldn't stop the words, which were coming out of his mouth in a frenzy now, his heart floating in his chest. He didn't even know why, but there was a stupid tingle at the angles of his eyes. “You knew nothing and you were fine with it. The most _dissatisfying_ sex of your life, and you questioned nothing. _Nothing_ . Not even _once_ .” It had also been because he'd been extremely careful with not forcing Daken, but _oh_ , the care, the _care_ , the sublime attentiveness. Daken burst with the need to give the man something in return for this thoughtfulness – and yet he knew that, to Quentin, it wasn't a matter of exchange of any kind. He just did it because he was like this, because to him it was the _norm_.

“I had no right to _question_ anything,” Quentin said firmly, sure enough, “It was for you to say. And you know, you're _wrong_ ,” he added quite forcefully, “It most definitely _wasn't_ dissatisfying. _Never_.”

“It was, if you had certain expectations,” Daken argued. People _did_ expect a certain kind of sexual acts, and it would be naive to think they wouldn't. Quentin _had_ , in fact, begged Daken to fuck him. Daken had had more partners that he'd ever cared to count, and barring certain variations – one preference or the other – it was penetration that one craved.

He saw the allure, certainly enjoyed it on both ends, but it was the intimacy that he craved, that intoxicating intimacy - the warmth and closeness of bodies pressed together was what he most looked for.

“Well, I had nothing of the sort,” Quentin shrugged, “I was – I _am_ – more than happy to wait.”

“You don't have to,” Daken reassured him, “We don't have to.”

His statement fell on silence. The man looked at him, spoon half-way to his mouth, and slowly lowered it to the bowl.

“We _do_ if you need time for that,” he said quietly.

“ _You_ don't need time,” Daken shrugged. “I think we established that.”

“But if you're not hard –”

“The state of my cock isn't a marker of my arousal.”

Daken spoke levelly, and kept sitting on the bed; he wouldn't have Quentin thinking that he was proposing to do it now. This was a moment of reflection, for talking, and he had no desire to pollute it with what would resemble a bargain.

“You were, in a sense, right when you said I was insecure. I thought that you would have taken a look at it and surmise I _wasn't_ aroused, or that the sight would have – _disgusted_ you.” He held up a hand when Quentin emitted a sound of protest. “That you'd have been revolted by my skin.” He kept fit, that was true; but it didn't change the fact that the tissues were decaying, were changed from his youth. “But you aren't,” he added, and heard the wonder in his voice; he saw Quentin's gaze soften utterly. “You saw me bare and didn't pull away. I'm not beautiful, not anymore, but you don't care.” Quentin inhaled as if he were about to speak, but Daken shook his head to stop him. “You don't care that I can't satisfy you like you'd want me to. That I'm just an old relic, barely functioning –”

“Daken –” Quentin's voice was so terribly soft, and Daken interrupted him.

“My body doesn't cooperate, but that doesn't mean we can't have sex. Even if I'm not hard.”

Quentin blinked slowly. “Are you... what are you saying?”

Daken sighed and bent forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He considered the man in front of him. There was something holding Quentin back, something at the back of his mind: he was staring at Daken and fidgeting, creating sparks with his fingers. Daken wondered if he was aware he was doing it. “I'd gotten the impression that you weren't averse to taking turns.”

Quentin emitted a strangled sound. “I'm – I'm not averse to taking turns.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“ _Quentin_ .” Daken sighed. “I'm telling you that you _can_ propose intercourse even when I'm not hard. You _can_ , and I'd very much like you to do so, fuck me.” He let the sentence sink in, waited for Quentin to say anything, but the man was merely staring at him, lips parted slightly. Daken inhaled, and said it before he could think himself through _not_ saying it: “In fact, there's no need for you to _propose_ it.”

Quentin sat straighter, rigid and wide-eyed. “ _What?_ ”

He should stop now, let it slide, never bring it up again: Quentin's horror was the only answer he needed.

Or he could pursue the shivers that had run down his spine that very night, or that morning, or as he faced the Phoenix – something he hadn't known he'd missed, something electrical and primeval, dark and exhilarating because this time, _this time_ the power was in someone who _cared_ about him.

“I enjoy it when you're rough, Quentin.”

“When I'm -” Quentin shook his head. “When have I been? I assure you I didn't _mean_ –”

“I know.” Daken softened his features. Quentin was despairing again, but he didn't need to. He needed to understand this. “It was just a moment. But Quentin, it was sublime. You stopped me with such firmness, you held my wrist and you had this stern look in your eyes -” his heartbeat quickened at the mere thought.

Quentin was clearly rethinking their encounters in his head, worrying his lower lip as he did so, some sparks in the air around him.

“Yesterday,” provided Daken, and saw the wheels turning in Quentin's head, his eyes widen as he probably recalled.

“Before I jerked you off,” he said quietly after a few seconds of silence.

“Yes.”

“You were about to reciprocate and I didn't want you to, I wanted that moment to be just for you, focus everything on you.”

His chest ached at the _reasons_ behind Quentin's gesture. “That was considerate.”

“Mh-mh.” Quentin shut his eyes. “And you enjoyed _that_? I wasn't rough, I was just a little more assertive –”

“I would call it a kink for authority figures,” Daken said quietly. There was no tiptoeing around the issue: he knew perfectly well what – or rather, who – Quentin was thinking about.

And it wouldn't have been that off the mark. He enjoyed that kind of dynamic because of what Romulus had _instilled_ in him, and he was well aware of that. He simply couldn't help it. He'd even had to seek the services of a high-class master in Kobe, these past few years, when the pressure and the pain were too much and he _needed_ to relieve them... away from his house, from Eike's ears. He would leave for Kobe and return home the morning after, the tension disappeared from his body, a good ache reverberating through his bones and muscles.

“Yes,” he continued when Quentin didn't speak, the man's eyes still closed, his breathing quiet, “I appreciate your attentiveness, I truly do. More than I can express, Quentin. But that is visceral, and cathartic, and – sometimes, I _need_ it. I need to let _go_. From you, it would be the most welcome gift of all. Because I know I can trust you with it.”

Quentin exhaled as Daken spoke the last words, then snapped his eyes open as he jumped gracefully from the desk to his feet, his hands holding on tight to the border. “You're not talking about some kinky role-play. You want me to actively _harm_ you.”

Daken inhaled quietly. “I didn't say that.”

“You don't _need_ to.” Quentin fingers trailed over the edge of the desk, sparks all around him. His face was set, his eyes blazing gems. “I – remember.” His voice caught in his throat. “May I – speak about it?”

“Of course you can.” Daken could hear both their heartbeats thundering in his ears.

Quentin shook his head just slightly. “I – could never do those things, Daken. Those things in Hiro's dreams.”

“I very much doubt you would,” Daken said softly. Still, he thought, his gaze traveling over Quentin's rigid figure, it was terribly selfish of him to ask of Quentin something even remotely similar to those horrid dream-memories his amnesiac self had relayed to the man. He shook his head; this had been a mistake. “Forgive me, Quentin, I didn't mean to upset you. Nor do I want to cause you discomfort. We don't need to -”

“I can do it,” Quentin interrupted him, soft but firm, such authority in his voice that Daken's spine snapped straighter, his heart hammering. “Not like _that_ , but I can do it. I can work around it. Give you what you need. Some measure of discipline. Teach you some lessons.”

Even as he shivered at the words, Daken tried to keep his voice level. “You don't have to, Quentin.” The strain in Quentin's body-language was apparent to him. “Forget I said anything about it.”

“I _do_ if it's something you need,” Quentin clenched his jaw. He seemed to have taken a decision, a decision that went against all he was. And he was doing it for Daken. “What matters to me is that you _want_ it. That you can stop me when you need me to stop.”

Daken's mind was spinning as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Quentin was truly offering to do this. To wear a mask and _discipline_ him. God above, maybe even hurt him in some way... probably nothing too dangerous. “Of course,” he said, and his voice was even shaking slightly. “We can use a safeword -”

“We _can_ ?” Quentin snapped, his voice a leash reining Daken in, and he laughed forcefully, dark and beautiful, flames all around him. Daken felt little and unimportant and drawn in like a moth. “We are _most certainly_ going to use it. That's not negotiable.”

“I –”

“Like this, then?” Quentin's voice was thunder, was a blizzard; he approached, otherworldly and massive, his steps measured and yet menacing. Daken was grateful he was sitting, because his knees felt like jelly. He whimpered.

Quentin reached him, hemmed in by his flames, dark and achingly beautiful and alien.

“Like this?” he repeated, stern but not quite so, his voice liquid steel. “Do you want me like this?”

Daken's mouth had gone dry. Words couldn't fall from his lips. Mutely, he nodded.

“Speak up.” It was burning iron, but now there was an edge of softness to it. Quentin drew in closer. “I need to hear you speak.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Daken dredged the answer out of himself: it came out strangled. “Yes, that's how I want you.”

Quentin nodded, and then exhaled shakily, the flames gone - and he was smaller, human, himself. “Okay.” He shut his eyes and breathed quietly for a few moments, his voice normal now, “I can do it.”

Daken let out the breath he'd been holding. “My _God_ , Quentin.” His voice shook; his fists were trembling - he'd tightly gripped the sheets.

Sighing heavily, Quentin took a few steps away from him. “Sorry. I shouldn't have done it like that.”

“I angered you.”

“I –” Quentin winced. “No. No, you didn't.” He passed a hand over his face, looking so terribly exhausted, and opened his eyes. “I needed to see it, to... see how it affected you, see that you _could_ answer and not just lay still and trembling –”

“Ah.” It had been a smart move, do it without warning him first.

Quentin hugged himself. “I _shouldn't_ have.”

“No, you did well.” Daken reached out to show him that all was well, that he could approach Daken. Hesitantly, Quentin walked closer, and grabbed the proffered hand.

“Are you sure?”

“It only cemented what I knew.” Daken squeezed his hand. “You're truly a sight to behold, Quentin, when you draw the steel out of yourself and coat yourself with it. You look martial. Breathtaking. A master of worlds.”

Quentin's breath hitched. “Is that how you want to address me?” he guessed. “M-” he couldn't say it; it was obvious what he was thinking about.

“Yes, if you'll allow me, Quentin. If not, if you're uncomfortable, I can use something else.”

“No.” Quentin swallowed. “No, if you prefer that, than by all means you'll use that.” He raised his left hand to join the other, and caught Daken's between them. “I think we should use the color system. It's more nuanced, and _safer_ than just a single safeword –”

“The _color system_ ,” Daken repeated, utterly baffled. “You're _familiar_ with this.”

“Well, yes,” Quentin shrugged. He didn't elaborate, so Daken didn't press further. Even if he was delighted at knowing that Quentin was no amateur in the practice, even if he was simmering with curiosity, it wouldn't be delicate to ask, especially if the partner was Evan – but Quentin appeared calm; whereas he would have stiffened, had it been the case. “Do you agree?” Quentin continued, “If you prefer a single safeword –”

“No, that's perfect.”

“Okay.” Quentin nodded. He inhaled to speak, and it was obvious that he wanted to get everything out of the way now.

Daken interrupted him. “Do you need to write any of this down?”

“No, it's okay. Do you?”

Daken shook his head, and tugged at Quentin's hands. “Sit with me.”

Quentin complied and sat beside him, leaned on him as Daken pulled his hand out of Quentin's grip to caress gently Quentin's palm. It was good to have him close, good to speak, good to set everything on the table and negotiate the terms. He felt his throat constrict at what Quentin was doing for him.

Quentin spoke quietly. “I won't pull it on you like I just did, Daken. It'd be treading a very _thin_ line, given our situation.”

“I told you, I trust you -”

Quentin held up his free hand. “That's not enough. I wouldn't forgive myself if we did it and then it turned out that I missed a signal or that you somehow _couldn't_ stop me. I need you to tell me _clearly_ that you need me to do it, and then, and only _then_ , I will.”

“That brings the element of surprise out –”

“That's _not_ negotiable,” Quentin said forcefully.

And he was perfectly right, after all; Daken sighed. “Fine. How about –” He sat thinking for a while, Quentin's quiet breathing a comfort. How attentive and careful the man was, even in this.

It was the right way to go about it.

Daken tapped his index finger against Quentin's palm. “How about I untie my hair to signal you that you can do it, and then you're free to decide whether to begin the scene or not? That way, at least I won't be sure that you'll actually do it, and you can _safely_ startle me.”

“Is that an important part? That I startle you?”

“Yes.”

Quentin sat in silence, hand turning in Daken's so that Daken was now caressing the back of it. “That sounds reasonable,” he murmured eventually. “Hair loose. Okay.”

“Okay.” Daken nodded. “Do you have any other limits?”

“I won't harm you in any permanent way, and you won't ask me to,” Quentin said firmly, “I'm _not_ going to cut you open or make you bleed in any way. If you _do_ want pain –”

“Yes.”

Quentin exhaled. “Do you trust me with the specifics or do you want to discuss them?”

“Surprise me.”

“Okay.” Quentin exhaled again. “Okay. Your limits?”

“My –” Daken blinked, taken aback. “I don't have –”

“I'll walk out of this room _now_ if you don't tell me, Daken.” Quentin bumped his head against Daken's shoulder. “Tell me everything, please.”

Daken gave a gentle squeeze to Quentin's hand. “I don't have physical limits. You know that.” He probably wouldn't survive anymore most of the things that had been done to him in the past, but Quentin wasn't going to do them anyway. There was no need to say it.

“Yes, don't remind me.” Quentin's voice shook, and as Daken had thought, he added: “I can assure you I won't do _any_ of that.”

“That's good to know.” Daken stretched his legs. “So –”

“They're not the only limits one can have.” Quentin spoke clearly, his voice quite serious. “Is there _anything_ I can't _say_ or _do_? Anything. It's important.”

He opened his mouth to tell Quentin that of course, there was nothing so bad as to trigger him, but that was a lie, wasn't it? In the dark hours of the night, when he was tormented by nightmares, when he saw Romulus, he was haunted by his words, words so normal. Being told them during a scene was perhaps not the best idea.

Daken cleared his throat. “Yes. Don't ask me to –” God, he felt ridiculous. But it was necessary. “Don't ask me to undress. Or to lie down. It's those verbs that are off-limits, not the action. You _can_ tell me to, say, strip and get on the bed and stay on my back. Just don't use those two verbs.”

Quentin nodded, mouthing the words to himself – Daken could hear the air coming out of his mouth. “Okay,” Quentin then said softly. “Anything else?”

“No.” He hesitated.

“That doesn't really sound like a no.”

“I -” Quentin wouldn't do it; he wouldn't surely do it. It wasn't in his nature. But Daken had mentioned there being no need to propose having sex, and that could be misunderstood quite badly.

“Tell me,” Quentin insisted, and Daken capitulated.

“I don't think you _would_ do it,” he began, “But just to be sure – no rape play.”

Quentin inhaled sharply. “Of course.”

“I mention it only because of what I told you earlier – that there was no need to propose anything. I merely meant that you can be more assertive, not that you can _force_ me to – of course it would be acting – I could stop it – but I don't – you –” Why was he blabbering now? Quentin would never. _Never_.

“Hey.” Quentin squeezed his hand, his voice soft and gentle. “Of course I won't.”

“I know.” Daken cleared his throat. “I was just making sure.”

“Okay.” Quentin murmured. The silence emphasized his agitated heartbeat, but he said no more on the matter, for which Daken was grateful. “Some -” Quentin trailed off, inhaled and spoke again, his voice firmer. “Yes, some way I _shouldn't_ address you?”

“I do enjoy trash talk.” Daken closed his eyes. “No, call me everything you want. Whore, slut. I –” his breath caught in his throat at a sudden thought. At the thought of Quentin's voice calling him in a very particular manner. The master in Kobe had called him as such, upon Daken's request, but his voice hadn't carried those wonderful undertones to it.

“What?”

Quentin's voice, on the other hand - it would be perfect; Daken shivered at merely imagining it. “I would like you to call me boy, actually.”

“Boy?” Quentin's voice was almost incredulous and Daken turned to look at him; Quentin had quirked an eyebrow. The irony of that, with their respective ages, wasn't lost on Daken.

Quentin wouldn't have been so calm if he'd known the genesis of the moniker - but it didn't matter. It wasn't as if Daken were projecting, after all; Quentin wasn't Romulus.

Quentin squeezed his hand. “Boy it is.”

“Wonderful.” Daken nuzzled Quentin's throat. “Thank you, Quentin. Really. Thank you for doing this.”

“Of course,” Quentin said softly, and hummed in response when Daken hummed against his neck. He raised a hand to cup Daken's face, and passed his fingers lightly over Daken's cheek. “We're not finished. What type of aftercare do you need?”

Aftercare, ah. “You're perfect, Quentin,” Daken purred against Quentin's throat. “Just hold me. Hold me and don't let go, hold me tight, breathe with me and don't leave me, _don't_ –” his voice broke suddenly, it was _shaking_ , and he hid his face in Quentin's chest.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Quentin cooed so terribly softly, and it made Daken's chest ache. He sobbed, once, a stupid unnecessary reaction. “I won't leave you. I promise. Never.”

“ _Hold me_ ,” he repeated like a broken record, a desperation in his voice that scared him, his arms moving of their own accord to wrap around Quentin – and the man returned the embrace, a hand going up to caress gently his hair as he kept cooing softly, so softly.

He didn't know how much time they spent like this, with Quentin holding him close and murmuring gently, his fingers raking through Daken's hair. He'd come to comfort Quentin and the opposite was happening, and it felt right, to be there in Quentin's arms, it felt so achingly safe. He could spend all eternity like this, he could _kill_ for it, for just a little time more than he had. But no, he had to live the moment and don't ruin it, don't think about the future, think about the present... about the tightness in his chest, Quentin's smell engulfing him, his breathing, his _heartbeat_ lulling him. This was peace. Oh, this was bliss.

It was disrupted by a particularly foul puff of disgusting smoke coming from the corridor, that made even Quentin gag, so strong was the stink of brimstone. The moment ruined, they stood up together and exchanged a glance.

“Okonkwo told me it's normal,” Daken furrowed his brows, but Quentin shook his head.

“Not like this. And you _can_ call her Idie, you know.”

“Ah, please.” He followed the man out of the room to the corridor, which was positively bursting with Quentin's neighbors – and with Bamfs jumping and pulling at each other's arms with various expressions of horror on their faces.

“Okay, _that's_ new.” Quentin looked around. Colossus stood just out of Kaplan's door, and seemed about to knock on it. Iceman stood beside him and was trying to shoo away the hyper-excited Bamfs with his ice staff.

There was a commotion from the other side of the corridor, and Daken turned in time to see Lee storm through the scattering Bamfs as if they were hysterical children. She wore a pink nightgown.

“How _many_ times did I tell him not to perform magic in the building,” she snarled as she passed Daken, “Does he listen? _No!_ ” She threw her arms in the air as Okonkwo fell in line behind her.

“Should we warn Teddy?” the younger woman asked, but Lee huffed and waved a hand.

“To have Avengers crawling on the school premises? I don't think so. Piotr?” The vampire had reached the magician's door.

Daken and Quentin approached the door as well; Colossus was shaking his head. “No answer,” he said in response to Lee's inquiry.

“Ah, isn't that fantastic.” Lee's voice dripped sarcasm. She turned and banged on the door. “William! I sure hope you're _alive_ , you idiot! We're coming in!” She took a few steps back, and nodded at Colossus.

The Russian unhinged the door as if it were made of paper – an impressive display – and set it against the wall. Iceman, the first to throw a glance into the room, let out a shout and rushed inside as the Bamfs began _screeching_.

Alarmed – what the hell was happening? - they all followed. Kaplan's room appeared untouched, well kept; the only thing out of place was the man collapsed on the floor.

Lee was at his side in an instant, muttering “Fucking idiot,” under her breath, and “Come on, Billy,” and such manifestations of both worry and irritation.

To everyone's relief, though, the man came to his senses almost immediately, and groaned as he sat up, a hand coming to press against his temple. He looked around, his eyes reduced to slits. “What are you doing here?”

Lee emitted an exasperated snarl. “I don't know, Wiccan, what do you think? The Bamfs have gone wild!”

“It could have been dangerous to open the door, my wards don't extend outside the room! You should have kept outside and called someone –”

“Do not tell me what to do in case of danger, little man.” Lee straightened up, the worry swept under the carpet, all martial stiffness in her bones. Oh, Daken liked her so very much. “What the _hell_ were you doing?”

“God.” Kaplan grimaced. “It's ironic you'd ask that.” He took a couple of breaths. “I walked the – inner paths, the passageways that lie below. I –”

“You went _to_ hell?” Lee snapped. At the words, Colossus stiffened, his metallic body creaking. “You opened a passage to hell _inside_ the school?” Lee continued, her voice low and dangerous, and she was right in being angry. This was a school; thousands of kids attended it.

It would have been interesting indeed to witness a battle between the vampire and the mage, but alas, it wouldn't ever happen. Daken settled with his back against a wall and crossed his arms.

Kaplan met her gaze unflinching. “I needed to. We've found nothing so far!”

“You went to investigate the attack,” Lee exhaled. Of course: the things attacking D.C. had looked like demons.

Kaplan nodded.

“And?”

“Did you see her?” added Colossus quietly; his voice made Daken shiver. He looked at the Russian, but no one else was doing it; all were focused on Kaplan, who lowered his gaze to the floor and nodded.

“Who?” asked Daken, curious, and Colossus replied, his voice still quiet:

“The Queen of Hell.”

“The –” Daken didn't finish his question, as Quentin caught his gaze and shook his head. Resolving to ask the man later, Daken tore his gaze off the Russian.

Kaplan cleared his throat. “Yeah. I battled Her. I won.” Kaplan moved his hand in the air, and a tingle came, and a shimmer; in front of him floated a gem.

There was a collective intake of breath.

“Is that -?” Lee widened her sane eye and stumbled backwards.

“Yes. The Eye of Agamotto.” Kaplan's voice was hoarse.

“I hadn't seen it in years,” muttered Colossus.

“No one had.” Grimacing, Kaplan set it on the ground. If Daken wasn't mistaken, possessing the Eye made one the Sorcerer Supreme, a title no one had worn ever since Stephen Strange's death.

It appeared Kaplan had won quite the bounty.

In the heavy silence, Kaplan continued: “So bound, She guided me through the paths to see Her pets. I questioned them. Bound to speak, they talked. They told me their brothers and sisters were summoned the day of the attack. They were called by a collective force, a mass sacrifice. I know who did it.”

“Well? Tell us!” Lee urged. Kaplan looked at her.

“ _I_ will take care of it; it's not something you can deal with. It was some dark sorcerer of the Hand.”

“The _Hand?_ ” Daken pushed himself off the wall. Ever since he'd purged them out of Japan, they'd changed their base of operation, moving constantly from a country to the other.

Kaplan started, and said quietly, without looking up at him: “Yes. I'll take care of it.”

“Okay.” Lee sighed. “But you won't act _on your own_ , Billy. I want to know your movements. You'll have backup.”

“Yes. Of course.” Kaplan nodded. “There's – another thing.”

“What?”

Kaplan was _definitely_ avoiding to look in Daken's direction, his eyes shifting and uncomfortable. What was his problem?

“Billy?” Lee prompted, “What's this other thing?”

“Ah – when the demons were called, a...” Kaplan passed a hand over his face. “A soul escaped hell.”

“Oh, I don't like it,” muttered Iceman. “A soul that was in Hell can't have been a nice person.”

“Uh –” Kaplan grimaced.

“Well, we'll deal with it.” Lee shrugged. “Given you reaction, I'd say we know this person?”

Kaplan sighed, and – looked straight up at Daken, an apology in his eyes.

Daken felt his blood run cold. For a prolonged, agonizing moment he thought it must surely be _Romulus_ . Why else would Kaplan look at him like that? The monster had come free, come out of hell to torment him, to torture him – _worse_ , to take his kids, to take Quentin, to _harm_ them – to hurt him and bind him and enslave him again, but never again, never, _never_ again, Daken would fight –

But he was egotistical, always making everything about him. Wasn't he?

There was something worse. There was _someone_ worse who could have come out of hell -

And Kaplan pronounced his name.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ The last time otousan had contacted them at such an hour, their world had come crashing down. What could possibly have happened?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news is relayed. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That summary is the understatement of the century :D Ah, keep the keyboard away from me. I'm terrible.
> 
> Okay, the usual reminder: this is unbeta'd - that is, I beta'd it and I'm not a native speaker - so, as always, feel free to point out any mistakes.
> 
> And now, enjoy the trauma ~

18.

“Held him down, broke his neck,  
Taught him a lesson he wouldn't forget.  
But in my dreams began to creep  
that old familiar tweet tweet tweet –  
I opened my mouth to scream and shout,  
I waved my arms and flapped about.  
But I couldn't scream and I couldn't shout,  
couldn't scream and I couldn't shout –”

Florence + the Machine – _Bird Song_

 

 

Eike jumped into the pool with a screech of delight, spraying water everywhere.

It was a joy to see him so relaxed for once, so childish – _happy_. He'd taken to Charles immediately, in that open way of his, and maybe having a brother almost his age was helping him, right now – helping him to keep his mind off worse things. They were the both of them haunted, but they were getting along quite well, maybe even helping each other heal. A long process, no doubt, but it seemed to be going in that direction.

The young telepath was currently sitting on the edge of the pool beside Jean, and was wiping the water off his skin, a grimace on his face – and yet, when Eike emerged from the water and stuck his tongue out at him, Charles broke into a grin. Eike waved him in, but Charles shook his head – he seemed absorbed in whatever Jean was telling him.

The night before they'd received a phone call from the Brood – his results had confirmed what Grey suspected: Charles was apparently the biological child of Charles Xavier. His conception must have strange circumstances behind it; the enmity between Mystique and the once leader of the X-Men had been affirmed with vehemence by the X-Men themselves the day prior. Thankfully such venomous words hadn't been heard by Charles – or at least, Maiko hoped so.

The kid must be so very confused – his world had come crashing down, but he was struggling to catch up, apparently having taken to Eike as well; and he was eager to learn to use his powers, the mentoring place having been taken by Jean immediately.

In truth, Maiko thought as she observed the masked woman, Jean had taken on a motherly approach towards her old mentor's son – and towards Eike, as well.

Maiko was still shocked that the woman had decided to cover them for now, not even telling her old teammates about the fate Mystique had met. Privately, she'd told Maiko that Eike would need to face the trauma soon – but she agreed that it was, for the moment, more important for _Eike_ to decide who to let in on the terrible truth. It wasn't as if Eike was alone in this – a pretty strong safety net had been built.

So why, Maiko sighed, the thought still twisted her guts?

She hated lying to otousan. She despised herself for it. Otousan would have _wanted_ to know –

She danced a step back just in time to avoid Chie tackling her.

“Good try, love, but no.” Maiko looked upon her partner, who was soaking wet and had a smirk of apology on her lips.

“You came.”

“Of course.” Maiko stepped up again to wrap her arms around Chie. She'd have to get changed, but it was a small price to pray for the comfort of the gesture. “Just for a little while.”

“Come on, stay,” Chie mumbled, resting her head on Maiko's shoulder.

“An island-state doesn't rule itself, you know. Lots of paperwork.”

Chie snorted, then sobered. “Another request?”

“Mh-mh.” Maiko searched Grey with her gaze. “The _nerve_ of them –”

“Calm down, love.” Chie snuggled closer, then pressed a lingering kiss to her neck. Maiko gasped.

“Not here,” she murmured, her gaze moving to Eike, who was swimming.

“Tonight, then?”

“God, yes.” Maiko gasped again, Chie's wet body pressed against her making her pulse quicken. “Christ, I'd missed you so much...”

They'd made love that morning, as slowly and carefully as always, re-learnt every curve of the other's body. It had been possible only because Chie's mind could be finally be focused only on herself, as Grey had proposed taking turns on keeping an eye on Eike; and they'd savored every moment. Chie's eyes had glistened so beautifully when she'd raised her head from between Maiko's thighs, she'd moaned so softly as she rode Maiko. They'd kept quiet – Eike wasn't in the joint apartment, having elected to spend the night with Charles after the news had come; but all the same, Maiko hadn't wanted to risk Eike somehow hearing them.

She still remembered with slight embarrassment when otousan had taken her to one side to tell her, very quietly, not to do anything sexual when her sibling was around. At the time she'd just begun to know Chie, the thought of having sex hadn't even crossed her mind – in truth, it had taken Chie and her a lot of time to work through Maiko's issues. When otousan had made that comment, she'd had a flare of irritation at the unprecedented intrusion in her private life. But then, that came just a few years after Eike's kidnapping, with otousan walking on eggshells around Eike, with the both of them struggling to keep on their feet and be strong for Eike.

Then she'd realized _why_ otousan had said that – because Eike could hear and smell everything with nir enhanced senses – and she'd realized that otousan _himself_ had stopped having people in various states of dishevelment get out of his rooms pretty much _immediately_ after the kidnapping – not that he'd been in _any_ state to engage in any sexual activity, so absorbed and shocked had he been.

But it had shocked her – she hadn't ever thought about the _problems_ that having hypersenses could entail, and had reassured otousan immediately.

And then otousan had nodded, and told her not to do anything she wasn't comfortable with, and to stab Chie if she ever dared to press for anything or outright force her. He'd looked so concerned, so serious – it hadn't even crossed his mind that it was obvious, that Maiko would have never gotten close to someone in the first place hadn't she been sure she could trust said person, that Chie would never force her to do anything.

He'd probably, in that moment, only seen her as he'd first seen her... as a little girl in need of help. _His_ little girl.

She'd hugged him fiercely.

Now, Chie tightened her embrace as well, and mumbled against her neck: “What are you thinking about?”

“Sorry to ruin the moment,” Maiko brought a hand up to caress Chie's hair, “But I was actually thinking about some stiff fatherly advice.”

“Mh.” Chie nipped her shoulder. “You have the queerest thought processes, love.” Then she cocked her head. “Wait, advice about me?”

Maiko nodded. “He was really concerned, at the beginning.”

Chie snorted, a reaction Maiko hadn't expected. She lifted her head from the crook of Maiko's neck and threw Maiko a glance full of mirth; Maiko met it with confusion. “That, love, is an understatement.”

As Maiko stared upon her partner, Eike's screams of delight echoed once more in the pool, followed by a loud splashing sound. “Is that so?” she inquired, smelling a story behind it, something both Chie and otousan had so far managed to hide from her. What could it be?

And then it dawned on her. “Don't tell me he threatened you,” she paled, “Love, I'm sorry –”

“Oh, I'd have done the same.” Chie parted slightly from her, a soft smile on her lips. “So I _never_ told you his reaction when I went into his study after we first kissed?” She cocked her head to the side. Maiko groaned.

“You know very well you didn't!” She pointed a finger at her. “Tell me now.”

“Ah, well.” Chie shrugged, and leaned closer. “He was typing,” she murmured, her voice entangled with something like amusement, “and I swear he _jumped on his seat_ when I came in. He removed his glasses and stared at me and I wanted to die, Maiko – I recalled in that _exact_ moment he could surely smell you on me!” She shook her head. “Not my smartest move, and it painted me as terribly incompetent for my role as guard, too. How do you just _forget_ that your boss has hypersenses?”

“I hope you were simply intoxicated by my charms.” Maiko caressed Chie's hair, a knowing smile on her lips. “But did he threaten you?”

“God, worse.” Chie shook her head again. “He put his glasses back on, and he looked down at the holos again, and we went about our business, and when I was about to turn to leave, he said, very softly and calmly, you know, just a statement, very matter-of-factly, he said – he didn't even raise his eyes from the screens – _'you won't hurt her'_ .” Chie shivered. “It was terrifying. Not because it was a threat, but because I felt as if he'd acknowledged me, too... as if he would have been terribly disappointed with _me_ personally if I did hurt you.”

Maiko had never, even for a second, thought that otousan had just _let_ Chie court her – not with how paranoid he was. She'd always known some conversation must have taken place, but Chie had never told her anything, and otousan had gone on to give her that kind of advice – never commenting on Chie specifically _as a partner_ , just on how Maiko should be _careful_. She'd surmised that, whatever had passed between them, otousan had been satisfied with Chie.

This tale was surprising, and it wasn't at the same time. She didn't doubt Chie's impression – otousan had that way of looking at someone, the intensity of his bright blue eyes having startled even Maiko more than once. It was strange to imagine that quiet force focused on someone that wasn't her or Eike or Laura; it was strange to realize that otousan had just about taken Chie under his wing and made her feel part of the family with a few words. Now Chie's attitude around otousan made more sense too.

“I promise,” Maiko said softly, “If you ever hurt me, I'll protect you from him.”

“Oh, stop it,” Chie laughed. “As if I would ever.” She gave a quick peck on Maiko's lips. “And I know I'd have to worry about _you_ first, love.”

“Me?” Maiko batted her eyelashes, all feigned innocence. “Why, I'm a perfectly reasonable person.”

“You are, love.” Chie smiled. “And you're terrifying when you burn with righteous fury.” She reached up to poke Maiko's nose.

“Oh, am I?” Maiko smirked, pulling Chie closer. “What else?”

Chie kissed her softly, her lips brushing ever so gently against Maiko's. “Beautiful and divine,” she whispered in between kisses, “gentle and firm. I'd let you... put me... to prison... just to see you... argue against... my case... in court.”

“That's _so_ romantic.”

“I know, I say the sweetest things.” Laughing gently, Chie leaned in to press their foreheads together.

“You do.” Maiko smiled, and closed her eyes to breathe in Chie's scent, masked by the chlorine of the water but still faint. It was so peaceful here, a moment of calmness in between the paperwork, her worries. She could pretend Eike's voice was always like this, as she heard it now – that he was always this happy and carefree. “Maybe I can stay a little while yet.”

“Mh, a wise choice, love.” Chie nuzzled her cheek.

Together they joined the group at the edge of the pool. Eike was still the only one in the water, and was propelling himself with a long, thick tail. He grinned at her with such joy that it was heartbreaking.

Charles looked up at her from where he sat, and motioned half a bow. Poor kid. Maiko couldn't even begin to comprehend how he was feeling: he must be overwhelmed with grief and rage. Jean, sat beside him, cocked her metal-clad head in Maiko's and Chie's direction.

“Today?” she asked, as she did every day, and Maiko answered truthfully.

“Yes. We received a request from the US.”

Charles looked between the two of them. “Why do they keep trying?”

“Because they have to, Charles,” Jean sighed.

“They should worry about those demons –”

“Yes, I agree.” Jean shifted and sat cross-legged. “Let me worry about that.” Charles looked like he wanted to say something else – he'd taken to Jean quite quickly; her motherly approach had struck true. “ _Enough_ ,” Jean said firmly, holding up a hand. “Let's try that exercise again, mh?”

Charles pursed his lips in a very childish way, and then shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah, okay.”

As the two telepaths fell silent, Maiko sat at the edge of the pool as well and rested her head on Chie's legs. She watched Eike swim for a while, swim as if everything was normal, and felt a pang in her chest. He looked fine. He acted as if he was fine. Was he? Should she defer to him, to Chie's words, to Jean's reassurances? Or should she trust her gut?

Eike emerged from the water and smiled at her. Maiko smiled in return. Was he set on just _forgetting_ what had happened? He said he wanted the island to thrive, wanted to prove to Mystique that she had been wrong. But Mystique was dead. Mystique was dead and he had killed her, and he couldn't just forget. It wasn't right. And yet, maybe, wait for a little while was good to him –

Oh, she was so selfish, caught up in selfish thoughts. This wasn't right and she _knew_ that. She knew she had to wait for him to see reason, but she wasn't doing enough to nudge him in that direction because it was more convenient that way, wasn't it? She ought to stop this before it got out of hand. Madripoor would survive without them – it had to. It _had_ to.

“Jean?” came Charles' voice, quiet and scared in the silence of the pool, and Maiko turned to look at her. She was rigid, her fingers tightened on her thighs, and Maiko felt her blood run cold.

“What -?” she managed to ask, and then Chie gasped.

“It's your father, love. He's here. With Laura-sama and -”

“Papa's _here_? And auntie?” Eike put his hands on the edge of the pool to hoist himself up. The alarm in his voice was the same that Maiko felt.

It was the afternoon. This meant it was _the middle of the night_ in New York.

The last time otousan had contacted them at such an hour, their world had come crashing down. What could possibly have happened?

And why was Jean so rigid? Maiko stood up as Eike got out of the pool, water dripping down his body. “Jean, are you all right?”

The woman nodded. “Yes. I am,” she said, in a strained voice.

“Then what -”

“Quentin's with them,” she spat.

“Quent- Quentin Quire? _Phoenix?_ ” Eike's eyes went as wide as plates. “Phoenix's _here?_ ”

Jean emitted a disgusted sound. It appeared she still hadn't resolved her problem with the man.

“How did he come through without _anyone_ warning us, Maiko?” Eike dressed quickly, his clothes getting wet immediately as he hadn't even dried himself. “ _Shit_! Chie! Am I covered?”

“Yes, I'm shielding you,” came Chie's reply.

“Fuck.” Eike passed a hand through his wet hair. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“Eike, calm down –” Maiko said softly, but he spread his arms.

“ _What_ ? Don't you know what time is it in New York? Oh, God, what _happened_?”

“Let's found out, shall we?” Maiko caught him by the arm; a guard chose that exact moment to enter the pool and relay the news. The guests had been allocated in Eike's and Maiko's joint apartment and were waiting in the living room, having been already served refreshments.

Jean said she would remain there and keep training Charles; she had no desire to face Phoenix.

Chie, of course, had to come with them to shield Eike's mind.

So split, they headed out of the pool. There was a tumult in Maiko's heart, but she tried to keep calm and collected.

It must surely be something important, for Phoenix was present as well. Had he come as representative of the X-Men? Was this a simple visit, to relay some important information?

But it was so terribly late in New York. Surely, no matter the importance, they would have waited for at least the morning to come for them? What was so urgent that they couldn't wait for the night to pass?

Eike lamented again Phoenix's presence, that had come entirely unannounced – and yet, Maiko reasoned, it was to be expected that he would come through the teleportation room without any alarm being raised... because he'd come with otousan and Laura, who needed no authorization to teleport into the tower.

Eike slowed down when they reached the elevators.

“What if they smell it?” he said, without explaining what he was talking about. There were no guards around them at the moment, but he preferred to talk about what had happened only inside their apartment.

“They can't, Eike,” she said softly. Weeks had passed, and they'd wiped the room clean that very night, and many times after that. There was no chance that otousan or Laura could smell Mystique.

And yet, she almost hoped they would, so that the terrible secret could come out without her betraying Eike's trust.

They stopped talking about it as they entered the elevator, as their voices could reach the upper floor. Eike was biting at his lower lip, worried not only about what he'd just expressed concern about, but quite clearly also at the thought that something terrible must have happened – the same chilling thought that was in Maiko's mind.

They stepped out of the elevator, Chie always silent behind them, and Maiko was the first to enter the apartment.

Otousan stood near the windows, and Phoenix was in front of him, mere inches from him – it almost looked like they'd been holding hands, but they parted as soon as Maiko entered. Laura sat on the very couch near which Mystique's corpse had lain, and if she expressed no discomfort whatsoever, then it probably meant that she smelt nothing.

But Laura had always been more adept at hiding her thoughts from them than otousan. Otousan was an open book:

he looked at Maiko, and at Eike behind her, and smiled a forced smile. “Hey,” he said softly.

Maiko's steps faltered; behind her, Eike emitted a strangled sound.

That voice they knew, they recognized far too well: the voice he used when he was keeping himself together with effort. Before shutting himself into his room and breaking down completely... into _sobs,_ as she'd discovered from Eike's tortured words the night of Mystique's death.

 _God_ , Maiko thought, tightening her fists, _God, God, what now? What happened?_

“Otousan,” she said calmly, resuming to walk into the room, measuring her steps so as not to show her own terror. “Laura. Phoenix.” She nodded in the man's direction. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Let's sit,” proposed Laura in a quiet reassuring voice, that did nothing but exacerbate Maiko's panic. “Daken, _sit_ ,” Laura added firmly, because otousan still stood near the windows, his face a mask, but oh, that look in his eyes – Maiko's chest tightened.

“Yes, good idea,” Maiko said, keeping her voice level, and turned to be sure that Eike was still with them, as he still hadn't greeted anyone. He was staring ahead – at otousan, Maiko calculated – and his lower lip trembled. Maiko reached out to grab his arm, and he looked at her, that same panic in his eyes as she felt; she drummed _love you_ on his forearm and, when he smiled at her in return – a wary smile – she looked at Chie, who nodded: she would be extra-careful of the twirling thoughts in Eike's mind.

That somewhat resolved, Maiko turned. Otousan still hadn't moved from his spot, and Phoenix had a hand on his shoulder, and was whispering something Maiko couldn't make out.

As Maiko and Eike sat on the opposite couch – Eike didn't ever use the one Laura was sitting on anyway – and Chie went to stand behind it, Phoenix squeezed otousan's shoulder, and then turned to look at the three of them. “I'll introduce the situation, okay?” he said so terribly softly. The gentleness in his voice was obviously meant for otousan alone, and otousan shut his eyes and nodded and let himself be led to the couch. Such compliance dialed Maiko's panic up to eleven. What, in the name of God, had happened?

And yet, joy was in her heart. She stared at Phoenix - this man not that much older than her, this man who calmed otousan this much, who held otousan's hand and spoke so softly to him, with such care in his every movement – and in that moment, she saw it clearly, as she hadn't two days ago at the school; she saw it in his eyes, and she burned with incredulity and gratitude. This man cared deeply about otousan: his affection was as clear as day.

Otousan sat between him and Laura, almost huddled between them, sunk and lost. He was keeping his features carefully neutral, but that betrayed his emotions even more clearly. Oh, this was bad; whatever it was, it was _bad._

Phoenix cleared his throat, and reached to the side to catch otousan's hand. Otousan's grip on him was iron-like, his knuckles white. “Apologies for the hour,” Phoenix began casually. “Did we disturb you?”

“We were in the pool,” Eike muttered, avoiding Phoenix's gaze and focusing on otousan's legs instead.

“Ah, nice.” Phoenix smiled. “Were you having fun?”

“I'm _not_ a child, Phoenix.” Eike snapped. Maiko jumped on the couch, startled by the sudden vehemence. “Why are you here?” Eike spat, “You should be sleeping.” Then he dug his fingers into his own thigh. “Or _whatever_ ,” he muttered. Maiko felt her eyebrows rise. Was – was Eike referring to sexual activities?

Phoenix surely had the same thought, because he widened his eyes and shot a glance at otousan, who only breathed: “Hypersenses,” with such an exhausted voice, and for a moment there was shame on his features. “Monkey, I'm sorry,” he added, and he wasn't just referring to the fact he'd been so careless to be in Eike's presence without washing himself, something he'd always been careful about, and had made sure that Maiko would do as well. It was clear in his voice. He was fighting to control himself... and _losing_.

“Oh, who cares, papa,” Eike shrugged. His voice was far from casual, though. He almost sounded irritated. He despised Phoenix for hurting otousan in Tokyo and in DC, Maiko knew that. And she'd seen he'd approached Phoenix at the school, two days before, and there had been tension in his shoulders as he talked with the man. “So, uhm, why are you here? It's, like, the middle of the night for you.”

“Yes. Yes.” Phoenix looked between Eike and Maiko, and she finally realized he looked exhausted as well: there were dark circles under his eyes. Then she bit her lower lip. She _could_ see his eyes because he wasn't wearing his sunglasses: he'd got dressed quickly. Hadn't she been trapped in her own worry, she'd have noticed as soon as she entered the room. And Laura, too, appeared to have been woken from sleep just some time ago. Maiko tightened her fists. “It's Billy's fault,” Phoenix continued, “He, ah, has no regard for the hour.”

“Billy.” Maiko interjected. “William Kaplan? Wiccan?”

“Yes.” Phoenix nodded. “We came to tell you that we now know who attacked the White House.”

“Oh.” Maiko sat up straighter. She was suddenly glad that Jean wasn't in the room, for she'd have probably unintentionally destroyed everything as soon as the words had fallen from Phoenix's mouth, her rage at the attack visceral and primeval. “It was real demons, then?” she asked. It was the only obvious conclusion, having Wiccan just been mentioned.

“Yes. Real demons from hell.” Phoenix nodded. “Obviously, it's not all there is to it. They were summoned; we mean to intercept their summoners and ask their reasons.”

“What _reasons_ do you think are there?” Eike spat, “It was mutantophobes, obviously. Fucking monsters.”

“Yes,” Phoenix said gently, “Of course it was. But it was an attack on the US' centre of power, on the most important day of all. It was a message, from someone who had power to launch it. And the summoners are not known for entangling themselves this deeply with politics.”

“Who are they?” Maiko asked. This she could do. Be firm and competent. It had been an attack on the mere idea that a mutant nation could exist, and Madripoor could very well be next.

“The Hand.”

“The _Hand?_ ” Maiko repeated, taken aback. She remembered the Hand. She remembered her Yakuza boss being terrified by them. She remembered otousan driving them away from Japan at the very beginning, mere months after taking her in.

Eike – older Eike, the Eike from the _future_ ... who knew how many years from now? - had been there that day. He'd _killed_ ninjas, standing back to back with otousan.

“Yes.” Phoenix nodded. “We're organizing a mission. Wiccan will deal with the sorcerer, and we'll take care of the rest. If there is a rest. We'll question them. Get to the bottom of this.”

“I see.” Maiko placed her hands on her lap. “Madripoor will stand with you, of course. Do you need agents?”

Phoenix started. “We're – still not sure on how exactly to conduct the operation. We don't know if we want to –”

“- to leave a trail of bodies?” Maiko finished his sentence. “Phoenix, Madripoor will be glad to lend agents to the X-Men and leave their command to you. Both if you decide to let the vermins live... or to kill them. We stand together in this. You have my word.”

“And mine, of course,” Eike said casually.

“Exactly.” Maiko glanced at Eike, who couldn't fool her; he was still rigid with worry. There was no way this was all they'd come to the island for. “We'll wait for your decision.”

“Good. That's what I'd come to hear.” Phoenix nodded firmly. “We'll keep in touch.”

“Perfect.” Maiko clasped her hands together. The silence lingered, uncomfortable. Otousan's hand was still madly gripping Phoenix's, and he was pale. Maiko inhaled deeply. “Was that all?”

Otousan's hand spasmed, and he released Phoenix's. With no moment of hesitation whatsoever, Phoenix brought his other hand to join the left, and captured otousan's between them, his fingers moving gently over otousan's knuckles. He turned to face otousan; his voice was soft, but the room was so quiet that the question could be heard: “Do you want me to leave?”

Otousan just shook his head, his age – his _real_ age – all too visible on the lines of his face.

“Okay,” Phoenix said softly. He then turned to look at Maiko and Eike. He must surely see the terror she felt, the terror Eike felt. Why didn't they just get on with whatever horrid thing they'd come to relay? God, this tension wasn't good for Eike. “To gain that information,” Phoenix said slowly, “Wiccan went to hell; he interrogated demons. While demons are unreliable, they were bound to speak the truth by a spell.” He turned towards otousan. “Daken, I will say it if you want, but I think you should –”

Otousan nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.” His voice was so thin and tired and weary. Maiko felt a sudden burst of dread, a weariness beyond compare, a sadness too heavy for words. She sobbed, bringing her hands to her mouth; and beside her, Eike snarled.

“For _God's_ sake, papa, stop it!”

Oh. Pheromones. Was this what otousan felt right now? This terrible, terrible exhaustion? Even Phoenix was a little green, but still he held otousan's hand with great care and caressed gently his palm and the back of his hand. Otousan took a shaky breath and the dread and the sadness disappeared.

“I'm sorry,” he breathed, and Laura shook her head.

“Daken, just _say_ it,” she urged. “This only worsens the situation. You're terrifying them!”

Nodding, otousan sat straighter on the couch, his gaze firmly fixed on Eike. He spoke quietly, and slowly, and as he spoke, Maiko's blood froze in her veins.

“Eike. Please don't be alarmed. According to Wiccan, when the demons were summoned from hell, Victor Creed came back to life.”

 

* * *

 

Eike sat.

He hadn't heard correctly.

He couldn't possibly have heard correctly.

He hadn't heard correctly, he hadn't, he _hadn't –_

Father was a blur in front of him, was moving back and forth, no he wasn't – _Eike_ was, was shaking and falling apart, was moving, rocking, wrapped around himself, fingers into his flesh, he was shaking his head, and nothing could come out of his mouth, nothing, even as he tried, oh God was he _trying_ –

Someone – Maiko, Maiko was beside him – Maiko tried to embrace him, but he shot to his feet. He couldn't be touched... he didn't _want_ to be touched. Otousan sat in front of him, that fucking terrified expression on his face, and it was even worse, it was unbearable.

“Ah – ah.” Eike dredged the sounds out of himself. He had to speak. Calm, he had to keep calm. _No one's coming for ye, mama's not coming for ye._

_That bitch._

_I hate her. Oh, how I hate her -_

_How could she? How could she leave me –_

_Eike, calm down, please_ . Chie's voice, soft and reassuring. _You're hyperventilating. Take deep breaths._

Eike shook his head.

In front of him, otousan was on his feet and stood still, hands towards him, clearly unsure if he could touch Eike. Good. It was good that he saw that he had to stay the fuck away from Eike at the moment. Eike didn't want to harm him accidentally. _God. Oh, God, God._

He... was... fine.

With that adamant resolution he took a breath, and another, and another. There was a pattern in them. Deep, they had to be deep. And slow. Slowly, slowly, slowly he took a hold of them, forced them to be as he willed them to be. Slow. Deep. Good.

He could talk.

“Alarmed?” his voice was shrill. No, no, he had to tone it down. He tried again. “Alarmed, why should I be alarmed,” _oh God, God,_ God - “You've only said that the animal is alive.”

“He won't lay a _finger_ on you,” father said fiercely.

Eike laughed. He'd never laughed like that. It was a horrible brittle sound. _Of course he won't. I'll kill him before he lays a finger on me again._

Father blanched, and Eike realized he'd said that thought out loud.

Father took a step in Eike's direction, and auntie was suddenly on her feet as well, and caught father by his arm. Phoenix was still on the couch, rigid, obviously out of his element. What the hell was he doing here? This was none of his concern – _Eike_ was none of Phoenix's concern.

But father was. Father, who was pale and had those sad, sad eyes fixed on Eike. That gaze said _I failed you_ , and it was unbearable to behold. Eike hated it.

“There will be no need to,” auntie said calmly, “He won't come near you, Eike. We'll find him. We'll take him.”

“No, you'll _kill_ him,” Eike corrected her viciously, and father jumped at the venom in his voice. “I want him _dead_ ,” Eike shrieked, and father was staring at him with big, big, shocked eyes. As if he thought Eike was an innocent little thing still. Well, he wasn't. He had _killed_ . Fuck, he'd killed his own _mother_. He wasn't a kid anymore. He was an adult.

And he wanted the animal _dead_. And if the animal ever came near him, then he would have taken the animal's life himself. For the second time.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” auntie said, still calm and reasonable. “Eike, you're _safe_ here. He _can't_ come into the island. Right, Maiko?” She looked to Eike's side, where Maiko, he could sense it now, stood.

“Of course,” Maiko said. She was hesitantly hovering her hand beside Eike's, and taking a deep breath, he let her catch his hand. It was good. The contact was good. He was safe. Yes. The animal couldn't come into the island, it was true. There were shields, and every new mutant was checked upon. “Our defenses are up, it would be impossible for him to come here. And why would he?”

“He'll think mama's here,” he reminded her, voice caught in his throat. “And _I'm_ here. He'll want to finish the job, he'll –”

“ _I won't let him_ ,” father said fiercely, having apparently recovered from his shock at Eike's words, but how could he stop the animal from coming here, if the animal decided to pay the island a visit? He would be half a world away - “I'm coming to stay here, Eike. I'll protect you.”

 _No._ Eike felt faint. No, no, father _couldn't_ stay here. He just couldn't. Eike couldn't face him everyday and lie to his face, he _couldn't_.

He couldn't bear that fucking _look_ on father's face. That horrible self-hate.

He couldn't bear to hear father crying at night again.

“You can't,” Eike choked, and Maiko stiffened, and father's face just _fell_ . “You can't, you _can't_ , we need you with the X-Men –”

“You think I care? They're not important, _you_ are –”

“They're important to _me!_ ” Eike snapped, desperately scrambling to find a believable reason, “To us! To the island, to what we're building here! We need you _there_!”

“If I may,” Phoenix interjected quietly from his place, “There's no need for Daken to stay at the school. We _will_ work together: you _know_ that now. You have our word –”

“I wipe my _ass_ with your word,” Eike spat before he could stop himself. The fucking monster had hurt father!

Phoenix jumped on his seat. Father's face was white, his eyes wide and horrified.

“I meant,” Eike tried to salvage it, “I, I meant that your word is enough, we know you support us and you know we support you, but the world _doesn't_ . They need a symbol. Papa was that. He _is_ that. Our liaison among the X-Men.”

“He's right,” auntie said quietly, oh, thank God – “You can give us someone else in Daken's stead.”

No. Oh, God, this was a nightmare. This was a fucking nightmare, and Maiko wasn't helping him. _Why_ wasn't she helping him?

Because she _wanted_ father to stay. She wanted father to know what had happened. She was supporting Eike, she was indulging him, but _that_ was what she thought would be best for him. And Eike agreed – but not now, not _now_ ! He wasn't ready for it yet! He wasn't. He had to stop them. He _had_ to stop them –

“ _I don't want him here!_ ” he screamed, and there was silence - a _horrible_ silence, and father, grey-faced, staggered backwards as if Eike had slapped him hard.

He looked ancient.

He looked like he was the oldest creature in the whole fucking world.

Eike hated it.

Maiko took a breath to speak, to gentle Eike's words maybe, or to placate Eike, to talk reason into him – he talked over her, his eyes never leaving father's face: it was pale, it was horrible, it was unbearable to behold.

“I can't, I'm sorry, I can't, I can't stand it, I can't stand to look at you, I can't _bear_ to look at you, I _can't_ , your face, your face is too much, it's too much, that face you get, I –” that same face he had now as he looked at Eike, those eyes filled with pain and self-hate and sorrow – so much sorrow, _too_ much sorrow, how in hell could he _feel_ that much? It wasn't right of him, it wasn't _right_ of him to subject Eike to all that. It had _never_ been right. “That right there, you have it right _now_ , I can't stand it, I – I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_ , I don't want you here, I can't bear to look at you, I can't –”

It was too much, _too much_ , and Eike turned and stormed out of the room.

He needed air. He needed to fucking breathe. He needed to leave, to scream, to shout from the top of the tower, to run, to kill.

He'd hurt father. Oh, he had. He'd seen it. But he needed to think of himself, only of himself, and he couldn't face father. He couldn't.

Footsteps behind him, following him even as he walked so quickly, and he sniffed, and it was Maiko. He slowed his march, and when she reached him he whipped on his heels to face her. “I can't,” he choked out, “I can't, Maiko, I can't. I hate it. I _hate_ it!”

“Eike,” she said softly, and he shook his head convulsively.

“I can't. I can't explain, I just can't. I hate that expression he gets, this is _not_ about him, it's not, why must he shove his pain down my throat, I'm suffering _enough_ –”

“Oh, _Eike_ ,” she sobbed, and Eike stopped his tirade. There were tears streaming down her face. He'd so rarely seen her cry – when she'd seen him for the first time after he'd been rescued from the facility, when the old bastard had died, when she'd come back from the school after father had been attacked by Phoenix.

Hesitantly, he walked to her, and wrapped his arms around her. They stood like this for a moment, Maiko hiccuping little quick sobs - and then she'd composed herself, just like that, and she pulled away. Eike felt like a monster. They cried – she and father – they cried because they cared about him, because they _loved_ him.

And Eike was repaying them with this. But oh, he couldn't stand it. He couldn't. He couldn't stand father's pain.

“I can't,” he repeated quietly. “I don't want him here, Maiko. For now. I'll tell him. But right now, right now I can't _stand_ it.”

Maiko was nodding. “All right. All right, Eike. All right.”

“He can't –”

“He won't.” Maiko caught his hand. “Eike, you've made your feelings pretty clear, and he won't ever impose on you. You know that.”

“I –”

“He only wants you to be serene.”

“But he must hate me now.” Eike blinked back the tears. God, what had he said? “Oh God, he must _hate_ me –”

“No, Eike, no.” Maiko pulled him into an embrace.

“But those things I _said_ –”

“ _No_ , Eike. He loves you, he loves you so much, and he understands. He does.”

“He doesn't.” How could he _possibly_ understand?

“He _does_.” Maiko's voice was firm. “Come on. Let's get back.”

He let her drag him back to their apartment. In his stupefied flight, he'd gone to the opposite part of the tower, and as they retraced his steps, he tried to calm down. Maiko was right, father would never hate him, he loved him – but oh, God, Eike had said horrible things. He'd said that he didn't stand father's very presence!

When they reached their apartment, father was sunk in the couch, and Phoenix sat beside him, face tilted towards him, a hand on his arm. Auntie had moved away, and was talking with Chie. They all looked at him and Maiko as they entered, and Eike didn't leave father the time to say anything.

“Papa, I'm sorry, I didn't _mean_ that –”

“Eike.” Father stood up with obvious effort, and he staggered, fought to hold himself upright. He looked so old, so horribly old. “It's all right –”

“No, it's not.” Eike walked into the room and let go of Maiko's hand. “I didn't mean to hurt you, papa. I love you.”

“Don't worry about me.” Father appeared to be keeping his features neutral with effort. That pain, that unbearable pain, was masked behind his eyes. He smiled – a tired smile – and passed a hand over his face. God, he looked exhausted.

“Papa, _sit_ ,” Eike begged him.

Father nodded and did as asked, and Phoenix's hand moved immediately to his shoulder. Maybe – maybe Phoenix wasn't that bad. Yes.

As he stood there, still trying to decide what to say, father spoke.

“We'll leave immediately. I'm sure you have many things to organize. Laura will keep you updated.”

“Yes,” Maiko said softly. “Okay.”

Father nodded at her, then turned to look at Eike. It was obvious he was trying to keep his voice steady, his features reassuring, his gaze neutral. For now, he was succeeding, and Eike was unbelievably glad for it. “You'll be safe, Eike. Madripoor is secure, and we won't let him come _near_ it anyway.”

“Yes. I know you will, papa,” Eike offered.

“I'll stick my knives in him before he gets near Eike, otousan,” Maiko said viciously.

That... wasn't as reassuring as she thought it would be. Father paled, because he knew what the animal was capable of. And so did Eike.

“No, you won't,” Eike said. “If he ever comes, you won't be nowhere near him. He could hurt you. He can't hurt me.” No more than he already had. “ _I_ will kill him, _slowly_. I'll stick my claws in him. It will be a pleasure.”

Father had paled even more as he spoke. He opened his mouth, once, twice, and then he said firmly: “Don't let him do that to you, Eike.”

“Do _what?_ ” Eike questioned, taken aback. Had father somehow forgotten that the animal had already done the most damage possible? Eike was numb to everything the animal could do, now. And he was older now, more experienced, and he'd killed. He could kill the animal again. It was only right.

“Don't let him –” father shut his eyes. “Don't let him turn you into a bitter shadow of yourself, an empty shell that wants only revenge. Please, Eike. You can't let him do that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Eike shot, incredulous. “A _bitter shadow of myself?_ He – he – he raped me.” Father winced, but Eike went on unmercifully. “They tore me apart and he did that to me, papa, they _tortured_ me. He sold me and he hurt me. He has to pay. And he will, by _my_ hand, if he ever comes near me.”

“Eike, I understand, but –”

“No, you _don't_ .” This, Eike couldn't stand anymore. This, he had to set on the table right now. “Don't you _dare_ to pretend you do. You _don't_ . You can't possibly understand what it's like, what it _was_ like to lay there and... he... he...” He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. He had to stay calm. There was a thunderstorm in his ears: it was the heartbeats of mostly everyone present in the room, minus Chie's behind him. They sounded so terribly agitated: did they fear Eike would break down? “I know that you love me, that you care about me, but don't insult me like that, papa. Please.”

“No,” father said quietly, “You're right. I won't.” Eike opened his eyes to look at him: father was staring down at the floor. Phoenix squeezed his shoulder, and father repeated, more firmly: “I won't.”

“Thank you.”

“But I know how it is to live for revenge, Eike,” father looked up, “And I don't want that for you. It's no way of living. It's empty, and pointless, and it will give you no peace of mind when you do it.”

“Did you avenge yourself?” Eike breathed, curious at this piece of father's past he hadn't known about. “Are you _empty?_ ” It hurt him, to think that father could confess he was – that he was so even right now, maybe.

“I – no.” Father shook his head. “I didn't. I couldn't.”

“How can you say that, then?” Eike pressed, “If you never avenged yourself, how can you say that doing it accomplishes nothing?”

“Because I don't _want_ that for you!” father repeated fiercely, “Because that path is rotten. I did things in the name of revenge, Eike, things I'd be ashamed to tell you. I spent half my life in pursuit of that instead of...” he shut his eyes. “Of the things that really mattered.”

“Half your life?” Forty years? “Why didn't you?” Eike walked closer.

Father hung his head, and kept silent. The heartbeats in the room were still wild; in that moment, it occurred to Eike that the occupants maybe _knew_ what father was talking about. Auntie and Maiko sounded agitated, and _Phoenix_ , too – the man had known father for just some weeks, and already he knew father _more_ than Eike did? It left a sour taste in Eike's mouth.

“If it was something so terrible that you spent _half your life_ wanting revenge, how could you just let it go like that? Did you find peace?” Eike questioned, “Tell me. Tell me how can I find it, how can I stop thinking about what was done to me.”

Father sighed. “You'll never,” he said, a terrible weariness in his voice, and it wasn't right that he would give something resembling hope to Eike, just to then take it away. Father raised his head. “You will never, Eike. But you can heal. With time –”

“I don't want to wait, I don't want to need time!” Eike spat. “You couldn't do what needed to be done and so you don't want me to as well?” Father paled as Eike spoke. “That's fucked up, papa.”

“That's not -”

“It _is_ !” Eike cried, and felt Maiko was beside him, pulling at his clothes... He realised that he was _inches_ from father, and that father hadn't moved away. God, he could have hurt father – he needed to stay away. He let Maiko guide him a few steps back, but he was still raging. “It is, it is! You _failed_ and so you constructed this fucked up fantasy where you're better than that, where revenge accomplishes _nothing_ , just because then you can sleep at night –”

But that wasn't true, he realised with horrified, sudden certainty. Because he knew already that father didn't sleep, and he'd thought it was _his_ fault, but what if father's own horrors kept him from closing his eyes?

“I know that I'm _not_ better than that,” father said quietly, so quietly, “I know that if that monster were in front of me, I'd kill him. No – I'd do worse than that. And that's why I can't let you go down that path, Eike. It destroys you.”

“What –” Eike's question was equally quiet, his voice thin as if he were a child again. Here was father in front of him, old, so terribly old, with that scent he'd always had, as far as Eike remembered, that had only exacerbated after Eike's kidnapping but had _always_ been there. He exuded a terrible sadness. “What did he do to you?” This person – _monster_ , father called him – whoever he was, Eike hated suddenly, with a burning intensity that scared him.

Father shut his eyes, and for a long time he didn't speak. Maiko let go of Eike's clothing and held her breath. Phoenix had the most peculiar expression on his face – one of worry, and terrible sadness too. Eike couldn't see auntie, she was behind him – but she smelt like she was agitated.

Father shook his head. “It doesn't matter, Eike. It's long passed, and we're talking about you.”

“But I want to know.” Eike took a step towards the couch. “So that I can understand what you mean. Papa.”

With a sigh, father capitulated. “He killed my mother, and made me believe Logan had. He used me for various things. I spent half my life wanting to kill Logan, and he assured himself of that. The first time I saw Logan, I gutted him, because that was how I'd been told he'd killed my mother. I did things to Logan that I can't tell you, Eike. All for revenge. And they meant _nothing_. Because Logan had no fault.”

Eike couldn't care less about how much the old bastard had suffered at father's hands. He could see that father was tormented by what he'd done to his biological father; he was saddened that grandma Itsu had been _murdered_ , and not died of old age as he'd always believed, her death never being touched upon by father; he seethed at the idea of father being used by that person – and yet, Eike thought with a surge of irritation, this was horrible, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same at _all_.

“Well, the old bastard may have had no fault, papa, but the animal has. Like that person who killed grandma and then lied to you and used you. Why didn't you kill this person? You should have.”

“I should have. Yes.” Father finally opened his eyes, and looked up at him. His gaze was strange, remote. Eike had never seen him like this... this _bared_. It scared him. “I couldn't, because Logan did.”

“ _Ah_ .” And just like that, Eike felt a cold fury in his veins. “Ah, I see. So, let me get this straight. The old bastard took revenge away from you – denied you closure. And – knowing how unjust that felt to you – you want to do the _same_ to me?”

He could tell he'd struck true, maybe truer than he'd meant to in his rage, because father was just staring up at him, eyes wide, a progressively horrified expression on his face. Horrified at what? At himself? Hadn't he given this thought? Hadn't he _realised_?

“ _What_ ,” spat Eike, “You want to kill the animal _for_ me? Like the old bastard killed that person for _you_ ? I bet you were _so_ grateful. Weren't you?” Father winced, but Eike kept talking. He couldn't _stop_ talking, something vicious bubbling in his veins, something _vile_ , rage sending his teeth on edge, lips curling in a snarl. “The animal didn't hurt _you_ . He hurt _me_ . This is _not_ about you, papa. It's never been! You go around with that face and that fucking guilt! And you don't even see that you make it _worse_! You act like it all revolves around you! I -” he inhaled, and he didn't even know what he was about to say, but he was shaking and he was furious and –

Auntie was beside him.

“That's enough.” Her voice was cold. Startled, Eike whipped on his heels to look at her. Her gaze was soft as she looked at Eike, but her scent said otherwise. “Eike, stop before you say something you'll regret.”

“I –” he looked at father again. Father was pale and wide-eyed and was giving off pheromones wildly. “He doesn't understand,” Eike sobbed, defeated, and took a step back. And another, and another... He didn't want to hurt father - he _didn't_. But he was hurting too, and wasn't that more important now? Why couldn't father understand? He had to understand. “He -”

“You're upset and terrified, and it's not the right way to deal with this.” Auntie put herself between him and father; her gaze, firm and reassuring, was trained on Eike. “Daken, get back to the school now. Quentin, go with him. I'll stay for a while still. That is, if you want me here, Eike?”

Eike waved his hands at his sides, defeated and tired, so tired, exhausted. Father stood up – he stumbled, and Phoenix caught him by the waist; father accepted the help, and avoided Eike's gaze.

He was running away.

 _Coward._ He'd never been a coward. He'd always been there for Eike – _always_.

But this was what Eike wanted, right? To get rid of that horrible pain on father's face, to avoid seeing it. To keep father away, until he could bear to look at him and tell him what had happened and bear father's reactions.

Then _why_ was it hurting him so, to see father leave like an old man? As if it was _him_ that was hurting, and not Eike. He was taking all of Eike's pain and loading it up on his shoulders, and he hadn't the right to do so. He was _choking_ with Eike's pain, and using it to fuel his own. It wasn't right. It wasn't right.

He heard father's choked whisper when he and Phoenix were already out of the apartment, headed for the teleportation room; and he _hated_ those words, that tone:

“He's right. Oh God, Quentin, he's right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Daken had showered, and now the blood and gore were gone: he wore a simple shirt and a loose pair of pants; his wet hair was tied as tightly as ever. His expression made Quentin's stomach churn.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken falls; Quentin catches him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! :D I finally got my Master's Degree - and what's the first thing I do once I'm free? Why, I open the Word document for the first time in two months and edit this chapter, of course! ^-^
> 
> I'll update monthly for a while - I need to evaluate what to do with my life now - but rest assured I won't abandon this fic! As a statement of intent, I even put the estimated total number of chapters up there :D yes, you read right: my outline indicates it should be roughly 42 chapters - or maybe more. I do tend towards the verbose. Either way, it means we'll keep each other company for a long while :3
> 
> But enough chitchat! I hope you all enjoy the chapter, and please, as always, bear in mind that the beta-ing is all on me, and me not being a native speaker there could be mistakes. Feel free to point them out.
> 
> **edit** : It has been brought to my attention that I should have put a **trigger warning** before this chapter! I hope nobody was triggered; my sincerest apologies. For all the people tuning in just now: there's a fairly long **dom/sub scene** in the second part of the chapter.

19.

“Felt it in my fist, in my feet,  
in the hollows of my eyelids;  
shaking through my skull, through my spine  
and down through my ribs.  
No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone...  
No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden –”

Florence + the Machine - _Blinding_

 

 

Daken dived through the ninjas.

He was a sight to behold, bloodied and furious and _reckless_ ; Laura, beside him, seemed to be having trouble keeping up with him.

Perhaps they shouldn't have let him join the mission, but he'd been restless for days, like a caged tiger; he'd needed the action. So Quentin flew, an eye on the field, the other on Daken and Laura, and resolved to intervene only if things went awry.

In the distance, he could sense the psychic waves of a battle of a different kind: a magical one. They were raw and wild: the Hand's sorcerer wasn't going to go down without a fight. Still, Billy was now the Sorcerer Supreme, and this was a minor squabble for him.

It would be over soon.

Thanks to Billy's divination, they'd located the hideout of the Hand on US soil. Together with some choice mutant agents from Madripoor – selected by Maiko – the X-Men had coordinated an assault on the building, where they'd found the ninjas.

And Daken had dived through them first, with no concern whatsoever over his own safety. Laura had followed him suit, but it appeared obvious to Quentin that she should leave him be till he asked for help. He was using the fight to relieve his stress, to drown his agitated feelings with the ninjas' blood.

It had been a rough couple of days; Daken was beating himself over Eike's words, and no matter how much Laura tried to talk to him, he would always wave her off. It was as if he thought that what he felt didn't matter – Eike felt that way, and so it followed that Eike was _right_ in his accusations. It was, Quentin had realised, an old fear of Daken's – that of becoming his own father and not respecting nor listening to his own child.

Privately, Quentin thought that it wasn't that simple; it was obvious to him that Daken had only his child's well-being in mind, that he _wasn't_ acting like he was the centre of the world, like Eike had accused him of doing. Hell: had he, he'd have succumbed to Eike's questioning and told him about Romulus; but he hadn't. _That_ would have been to “act like it all revolved around him”, not how he'd acted instead! He'd let Eike reject him without a word of protest; he was doing what was the best for his child, respecting nir wishes and boundaries. He was doing all he could: Quentin wished he could see that.

But it was a subject not to be broached. When they'd come back from Madripoor, Daken pale and shaking, Quentin hadn't trusted the man to stay alone. He'd brought him to his own room, knowing Daken wouldn't want to talk, not in that moment when the pain and shock were so fresh, but he'd hoped he could offer Daken some measure of comfort.

And Daken had let himself be led without a word, he'd let himself be sat on the bed and then tucked under the covers, he'd kept still as Quentin undressed and then joined him under the covers, he'd let Quentin pull him close and embrace him. When Quentin had placed his hand on the small of Daken's back, Daken had given the first sign of awareness, stiffening and looking sharply into Quentin's eyes, then gazing feverishly at his face; the moment had lasted forever, and Quentin had been about to let him go, fearing he'd overstepped his boundaries somehow – but then Daken had relaxed in Quentin's hold.

He'd hidden his face in the crook of Quentin's neck, and his breathing had quietened almost immediately, but he couldn't fool Quentin that easily: he'd feigned falling asleep. Still, Quentin had pretended to believe it, because there was nothing he could do at that moment – no word of comfort possible.

The morning after, Quentin had tried to talk about Eike's words, but it had been like talking to a wall. All his attempts to broach the subject – to relieve some of the tension from Daken's shoulders – had been shrugged off. To Daken, his child was in the right by _default_ , and no amount of reasoning would make him see the matter any differently.

So the days had passed, and Quentin had decided the only thing he could do for Daken was to simply be there for him if he decided to finally deal with his own feelings over the situation. Keeping them bottled up wasn't healthy.

Meanwhile, Quentin had to deal with his own guilt – with the Cuckoo's loss of powers. Broo was trying to help them, but their powers weren't simply blocked: they seemed to have disappeared. Jean still wasn't talking to him, ignoring him pointedly whenever she called the school to hear how the X-Men were faring or tell them about her day in Madripoor – she'd apparently taken it upon herself to tutor Xavier Jr.

And there was the matter of Daken's _request_.

It wasn't a small thing that Daken was asking of him – it was frightening. He was asking for his self-control to be chiseled away and for Quentin to lead, for _Quentin_ to control him, and the amount of trust that entailed was scary. He was asking for a safe haven after a storm, for a moment when he could simply cease to struggle.

Unsurprisingly, he'd asked for it the very first morning after Madripoor, as the nightly terrors were washed away by dawn. Quentin had reluctantly left him alone to go to the bathroom, and upon his return he'd found Daken still entangled with the sheets, with that terribly vulnerable look on his face – and his hair loose on the pillows, the signal they'd agreed on just some hours prior.

It was clear he'd needed it not to think about those things Eike had told him, and Quentin would have indulged him, had he been ready for it... but he _hadn't_ been, his mind still a whirlwind after their conversation of that very night. He hadn't even had the time to put thought to what he could do yet, and this wasn't a matter of _improvisation_ ; he didn't want to be sloppy about it, he didn't want to hurt Daken.

So he'd crawled under the covers once more and he'd held Daken and he'd kissed him softly, but he hadn't done as asked.

Daken had held on to him with terrible intensity, and every single one of Quentin's attempts at breaching the subject of Eike's words had been silenced by Daken's chapped lips.

That was how they'd passed that first morning, huddled together till Quentin had had to leave for class; Daken was still in bed when Quentin had left the room.

He'd glimpsed Daken every now and then over the course of that first day, but they'd all been so busy with figuring out where the Hand could be hiding... More importantly, he'd thought Daken would need time on his own. In the afternoon Quentin had tried to locate Creed, in order to offer Daken at least a reassurance, but to no avail: the monster was untraceable. He'd probably been equipped with a TeBlo already.

Quentin had only been approached by Daken at dinner. And there Daken had asked him, quietly, if they could spend the night together once again.

Which had merely meant sleeping. Back in Quentin's room, Daken had joined him under the covers without a word, and had rolled to the side, his back to Quentin, his hair still tightly tied. Quentin had hesitantly slid an arm around Daken's waist – and the tremulous sigh that Daken had heaved then, as he'd caught Quentin's hand and pressed it to his chest, had brought a lump to Quentin's throat. He doubted that Daken truly managed to _get_ some sleep – the increasingly darker circles under his eyes were indication enough – but it was clear that simply sharing the space calmed him. And Daken had asked for something so simple with a tone that meant he'd expected Quentin to _refuse_!

So that was how they'd spent those few days: terribly busy by day, tangled up by night... And the second morning had been marked by the damn accident, brought about by how close they lay when he'd woken up, how deliciously Daken was pressed against him. Quentin had dealt with it by himself – he'd had to shut himself in the bathroom in haste to take a cold shower, because Daken just wouldn't leave it alone, wouldn't let it go away on its own, oh no: rather, Daken had begun a terrible litany, terrifying because of how matter-of-factly he was insisting that it was _fine_ , it was _normal_ , and would Quentin please let Daken take _care_ of it, there was no _need_ to apologise, it was _nothing_ , Quentin had _needs_ and so on and so forth –

As if it were a chore. Pushing his head under the cold water, Quentin hadn't wanted to think about what that entailed, what it _said_ about Daken's past. Not that he needed to _think_ about that; he knew, dammit. He knew it very well. But seeing it was different. Daken wasn't fine, not by any stretch, but his first instinct had been that of _taking care_ of Quentin's morning wood, as if his own shell-shock wasn't important. Combined with how hesitantly he'd inquired after sleeping together, it implied equating the latter with an _obligation_ to sex. As if jerking Quentin off, or blowing him, were the price for being allowed to spend the night in Quentin's bed.

And it wasn't the conditioning that made him act like that, because the few times Quentin had _seen_ its compulsion in Daken's eyes, it had looked very different. On the one hand, that relieved Quentin, because it meant he hadn't triggered anything in Daken; on the other hand, the mere idea of having that kind of attitude towards sex chilled him to the bone.

Daken hadn't even noticed his inner turmoil, caught up in that terrible apathy. Given how vehement he'd been in his previous reassurances to Quentin, had he been in a sharper state of mind, he would have probably realised _what_ he was letting on – or perhaps he didn't care anymore; perhaps he trusted Quentin with it, just as he'd trusted him with everything else. After all, he knew that Quentin _knew_.

Daken's terrible mixture of tired calmness and sudden snarls – he'd even lashed out at Laura – had been swept under the rug, however, as soon as they'd caught trail of the Hand's location; and so here they were, incapacitating the ninjas as Billy battled the sorcerer – or better yet, _slaughtering_ the ninjas.

For none of the X-Men were holding back, joining the Madripoor agents in the more gruesome aspects of the fight: the Hand had _something_ to do with the attack in D.C., and so they would pay. The time for talking, it seemed to many, had passed.

Even Shogo had come, much to Jubilation's protests; the young man had insisted that he wanted to make himself useful. Still, he wasn't participating in the carnage, merely incapacitating his foes; whereas Jubilation finished them off, ruthless and efficient as ever.

Kymera, Ororo's daughter, had tried to join the mission as well, but as third in line to Wakanda's throne she couldn't take part in such an endeavor, that had been bound from the start to get bloody. Honestly, Quentin shivered to imagine what would have Ororo _done_ to the X-Men if her daughter, who was staying with them for her own protection, had come with them and got _blood_ on her hands.

The last of the ninjas fell, impaled by Jubilation's energy claws, just as a particularly vicious flair of power came from the sorcerers' battlefield; silence settled then, heavy and terrible – and Billy came into view, his cloak billowing behind him. There was a snarl on his face.

“He took his own life,” he snapped at Quentin's questioning glance. “Some self-destruction spell –” he went on muttering as he flew past Quentin, and Quentin turned and flew to the ground with him.

Jubilation was looking up at the two of them. Billy relayed again his disappointing news, describing with some more detail his own battle; meanwhile, Quentin's gaze wondered over the battlefield until he found Daken and Laura.

Daken was drenched in blood – much as Laura, but his sight was what worried Quentin the most. He stood upright, so he should be well; but he was limping slightly, and eventually accepted Laura's help to walk. He looked up from the ground, saw Quentin looking at him, and lowered his gaze again – to himself, it appeared.

Quentin reached them.

“Hey,” he raised a hand towards Daken, “Are you okay?”

Daken started and looked up at him again. “Yes,” he exhaled, his gaze searching Quentin's face – for what, Quentin wasn't sure. For reprimand, perhaps? The ninjas had _deserved_ death.

“I can help him,” he told Laura, and ignored Daken's protests and maneuvered so that he could stand with an arm around Daken's waist to support him. Laura left them to their own devices and went to join Jubilation, Billy and the Madripoor agents. Shogo was still in the air, scanning the grounds with his armor.

Daken got a hold of Quentin's shoulder to steady himself, his hand slippery with blood; the coppery scent was nauseating. “Are you healing?” Quentin furrowed his brow.

“Give it some time.” Daken took a breath. “I'm ruining your costume.”

“I can wash it.”

“I meant –” Daken shook his head. “You know.”

“What? This is a mission, Daken.”

“The _X-Men_ , killing people. Never thought I'd see the day.” Daken grimaced. “This should have been a _covert_ operation, you can't just charge in with your flashy costumes. I could have led a secret operation with Laura and Maiko's people –”

“Yeah, are they _your_ old people?” Quentin looked at the Madripoor group: some members sported distinctly Japanese features.

“Mh-mh.”

“So we're basically working with the Yakuza.”

“Ah, but they aren't Yakuza anymore.” Daken nodded at one of the agents, a fire-spitting woman who'd been looking at the two of them. She bowed her head with respect.

“So.” Quentin turned to look at Daken. “Ryuujin, huh?”

“Not anymore.”

“That one seems to think you are still.”

“They're loyal to Maiko and... Eike.” Daken winced at saying his younger child's name. “Would they obey a direct order from me? Of course. Good thing I won't issue any.” Daken hissed. “It's healing.”

“Good. Do you want to sit?”

“No. I prefer to stand.”

“Okay.” Quentin adjusted his grip around Daken's waist. “Do you feel better?” he asked casually, his gaze wondering over the carnage around them. He wasn't referring to the healing, and Daken knew it.

“I can't possibly feel _better_ ,” Daken said quietly, “But I needed an outlet. This was acceptable.”

“I see.” Quentin kept his tone carefully level. If an outlet was what Daken needed, he'd have it.

“Quentin –” something in Daken's voice startled him, and Quentin searched his face, just to find weariness in the man's eyes. “I'm sorry you had to see this.”

“What? No.” Daken must have mistaken Quentin's neutral tone for rage at the ninjas' death. “I _told_ you. I don't care. These people were animals.”

“I murdered them.”

“So did Laura, so did Jubilation.” Quentin shrugged. “This is war.”

“They gave them clean deaths.”

“Ah.” Yes, he'd seen that Daken had gone for messy lunges instead of clean cuts. There was gore here and there, and only where he and Laura had passed. “Look, what do you want me to say? I'm not going to shriek in horror, if that's what you're worried about.” Daken was staring at him. “What?”

“I didn't think –” Daken broke off and furrowed his brow. “I didn't think you'd be so casual about killing, given your reaction at the death of the humans in that bar.”

“This isn't me being _casual_ ,” Quentin said firmly. “This is me, being supremely pissed off at the thousands that died in D.C., and wanting to try that whole retaliation thing.”

Daken leaned in – for a kiss, quite obviously. Only a bit taken aback by Daken's sudden urge, Quentin happily obliged, and the intensity with which Daken devoured his mouth sent a rush of blood to his length. Christ, had it really been just his words to excite Daken so much?

He'd have stayed like this for all eternity, but they weren't alone; breathless, he tilted his head back. “We've got company.”

Daken hummed, his gaze moving to where the others were, and his eyes twinkled with amusement. Quentin kept his gaze on Daken – seeing that spark had made his heart skip a beat. Daken even smirked. “That we have. I don't know if I'll gross you out with this, Quentin, but I'd happily feast with you over the corpses right now.”

 _Nope_. Quentin paled. “Okay, _that_ is right out of my comfort zone.” Was Daken joking? He was joking, right? It was very probable that he had in fact done so sometimes over his long life, but that he'd ask _Quentin_ to –

“Relax, Quentin. I was joking.” Daken leaned in to place a brief kiss at the corner of Quentin's mouth, and then let go of Quentin and tried some steps. Apparently he'd healed.

“Oh, of course. Okay.” Quentin cleared his throat as he watched him walk. “Is your leg okay now?”

“Yes.” Daken turned to look at him; gone was the mirth from his eyes. “I made you uncomfortable.”

“No. _Yes._ ” Quentin sighed and passed a hand trough his hair. “You took me by surprise. It's just – was it something I said, or –”

“You looked so very martial and imposing.” Daken's lips quirked upwards.

“Ah, duly noted.” He should have known; they'd even talked about it. The resolve he'd felt some minutes earlier only cemented; that brief glimmer of amusement had been the first he'd seen in Daken's eyes in _days_ , and if Quentin could give that to him, make him feel better – he would. There was no question about it.

Daken must have glimpsed some reflection of his thoughts, because he looked about to speak, his lips parted; but he had no time, for there was a commotion, and they both turned sharply in the direction of the noise, Daken unsheathing his claws, Quentin ready to shut down any attacker.

As it turned out, it was Laura: she was hauling a screaming man - dressed in more normal clothes than the ninjas – away from a corner of the safehouse and towards the assembled group.

“ _Ah_.” Daken smiled like a shark. “An _accountant_. Good.” He retracted his claws, and he took off in the group's direction; Quentin stumbled after him, trying to avoid the corpses, then took flight to that end.

“Is it? Good?”

“These parasites don't have the Hand's mental fortitude.” Daken scoffed. “They're usually the ones too weak to be ninjas, but that have their own merits and are allowed to live. Or better _yet_ ,” he added as they reached the group and he looked down at the whimpering mess that was the man, who was being firmly held by Laura by the shoulders, “Good, he's not their _breed_. He'll be easier to interrogate.” He dropped to a crouch near the man. Quentin locked eyes with Jubilation.

_Let him handle it._

She shrugged. _Fine by me, Quentin._

The remaining X-Men and the Madripoor agents settled in a circle around them all. The man looked terrified, and in any other moment Quentin would have felt bad for him, but not now. Dammit, not now. Not when there was so much blood on his masters' hands.

“I'll be brief.” Daken's voice was cold. “Talk, and you'll live. Don't talk, and you'll regret being alive. Are we clear?”

The man spat in Daken's face.

“Ah.” Daken's passed a bloodied hand over his cheek to wipe away the man's saliva. “A feisty one. Phoenix, do you read him?”

No, of course he couldn't read him. He wore a damn telepathy-blocking chip.

Quentin gritted his teeth. “He has a TeBlo.”

“Of _course_ he has a TeBlo,” snarled Jubilation. “Perhaps Akki here should just remove it? What do you think?” Beside her, Shogo – his visor up – looked uncomfortable, his eyes shifting from his mother to the man.

“That would be a pleasure, Wolverine.” Daken grimaced as he used Jubilation's codename, but nonetheless he said it; and he unsheathed his claws. “Would you _want_ me to open your head, sweetness?” he asked, and... fuck, they were bluffing; he and Jubilation were bluffing.

Quentin knew that, and still – it was _terrifying_ to watch.

No answer; Daken sighed – and stabbed the man's left calf. _Oh, Jesus Christ._ The man let out a scream. Quentin stood and watched in horrified fascination. Billy was fidgeting, uncomfortable, but that was about it; even Shogo appeared to have summoned some resolve. Unpleasant as this was, it had to be done. Life was definitely easier when they could read bad guys' minds without resorting to torture, and here they were now – perhaps, he mused bitterly, they'd resisted even too much.

“Of course there won't be need to,” Daken said, saccharine with a hint of steel behind it, “If you be a good boy and tell us what we want to know. Mh?”

“They'll kill me!” the accountant panted, the first words he'd spoken; and he looked scared, alright. Scared of the X-Men or the Hand or those _mysterious_ them – those who'd payed him?

Perhaps by all three of them.

“We'll protect you if your information is sound,” Quentin said firmly. “Start talking.”

The man shook his head, his gaze fixed on his bleeding leg. “They will kill me.”

“You silly boy.” Daken twisted his claws inside the man's leg, widening the wound; blood ran freely out of it. Billy gagged and stormed off, face white.

“Akki.” Jubilation's voice was stern; Daken looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. She crossed her arms. “He can't talk if he bleeds out. Mind the arteries.”

That took even Quentin by surprise; and Daken smirked. “ _Wolverine_ , I liked you already. There was no need to flirt so openly.”

Jubilation's smirk in return was frankly frightening. “It's a shame you're taken.”

“A _terrible_ shame.” Daken looked at Quentin briefly, a question in his eyes: was this too much? Was Quentin okay?

Was Quentin okay with Daken jokingly flirting with Jubilation as his claws were buried in a man's leg?

Life had really brought Quentin in a strange direction, because he was.

Whatever Daken had seen in Quentin's expression, it satisfied him; and he returned his attention to the man. “You see, my friend? The X-Men are angry. Congratulations, that's _quite_ a feat you've accomplished there.”

The man was shaking.

“Of course, even if they're angry, they're also mindful. You caused the slaughter of thousands of mutants, but they're willing to compromise, see? They're willing to protect you. Don't throw that away. Because they're patient, but I'm _not_.” He twisted his claws again. “Genocide is a terrible thing, my friend, but do you know what's worse? What makes me angry?” He was practically in the man's face, and he was also probably emitting pheromones, as Quentin felt a weak surge of panic: the man surely felt it tenfold. “You put my _child_ in _danger_. I don't like that. I don't like that _at all_ .” He let that sink in; then he continued: “Do you know _who_ am I?”

The man shook his head. “Akki?” he said in a shaking voice, “Superhero.”

“Oh, no, I'm far from that. I'm your employers' worst nightmare.” Daken twisted his claws just slightly. “I'm the reason the Hand left Japan. Did your employers tell you about that? Why they _can't_ do business in Japan? It's because they were wiped out. By me and my people.”

It sounded like a bluff; but looking at the savage _enamored_ smiles of the Madripoor agents – who'd once worked for Daken – it didn't seem to be one.

Well. That was unexpected to say the least.

It had also struck true; the man paled. “Ryuujin?”

Jubilation started. Quentin hadn't told her, of course; he hadn't told anyone. Daken didn't look away from the man; he'd surely noticed Jubilation's reaction, but he didn't react to it, focused on being the bad cop.

“The one and only. Now, I bet your employers would _love_ to be driven out of the United States as well, wouldn't they? And they'd love to know who to thank for it. _You._ They'd love not to be able to conduct business in the US anymore because _you_ disclosed this location to us and _sold_ us information –”

“You can't!” The man was shaking. “God, you can't, you –”

“I'm sorry, did you miss the part were your people endangered my child? I can and I _will_.” Daken let heavy silence sink in, broken only by the man's terrified gasps.

“What do you want to know?”

Daken retracted his claws from the man – who shrieked in pain – and applied pressure to the gaping wound. “Now there's a smart man. What do we want to know? We want to know why did the Hand attack the US, for starters.”

The man shook his head. “I don't know, I –”

“Not so smart after all,” Daken unsheathed his claws again, the simple threat of them enough– he didn't stab the man this time.

“I don't know, I really don't know! We were paid, it was supposed to be impossible to trace it back to us, how did you find us, we were only paid, only _paid_ –”

“By whom?” questioned Jubilation. She crouched as well, opposite from Daken. She bared her vampire teeth. It must be nightmarish to sit between them, bloodied and surrounded by corpses.

Well, the man had _chosen_ this life, hadn't he? He deserved no sympathy. Quentin clenched his teeth.

“They'll kill me!”

“We've already told you we will protect you,” said Jubilation, her calmness only apparent. “Who paid the Hand to summon demons _to attack the White House?_ ”

The man clasped his hands in his lap, still shaking his head. He was facing torture – he wouldn't be tortured, but he didn't know that – but evidently he was more frightened by what else could be done to him by his own people. He was wriggling his hands wildly; he was terribly agitated. Perhaps they should take him and bring him to the school, give him some time to calm down.

“They're powerful,” he gasped, rubbing his wrists together in agitation, “and I'm dead. I'm dead already!”

“You aren't –” Jubilation began, but Daken interrupted her with a snarl, catching the man's shoulder and shaking it violently.

“You _will_ be if you don't talk _now_ . Were you there when the demons were summoned? _What of Victor Creed?_ Did you see him? _Where is Creed?_ ”

“I don't... Creed?” the man whimpered, a hand twisting wildly around the other wrist, the movement catching Quentin's attention, he'd seen it before –

He only had the time to _begin_ shouting a warning; the man's head exploded, and gore splattered on them all.

They stood, horrified, staring at the body; Daken, Laura and Jubilation were covered with blood and brain matter. The silence was deafening –

Then Daken let out a wild sound, a howl of rage and frustration.

 

* * *

 

Daken was convinced the two deaths were connected.

Because, as it was, the man had killed himself _in the same exact way_ as Elizabeth Garner, and he argued it was impossible for it to be a coincidence.

“Maybe it's some new implementation in the device?” sighed Jubilation, rubbing at her temple. They were all standing in the conference room, and she and Daken and Laura were still covered with blood. The Madripoor group had left after three heated hours of discussion; this was but the umpteenth replay. “A gadget for crazy crimelords. The new vogue for people who want to conduct criminal business. 'Kill yourself with this shiny gadget before your captors make you talk.' _It doesn't have to be connected, Daken._ ”

“What if they are? You're only afraid because it would mean that _Americans_ were behind the attack on the White House –”

“We don't even _know_ if the people behind _Garner_ are Americans!”

“And how did they order the _FBI_ around, then?”

“I don't _know_!” Jubilation huffed. “But until Broo doesn't finish analyzing the TeBlo, this is all pointless –”

“We'll need to have _Garner's_ TeBlo results to see if they match –”

“We'll think about that _after_ Broo finishes, Daken!”

“We don't have the _time_!” Daken shouted. “There are _dangerous_ people, _mad_ people around here and you're not the least bit concerned! There's probably an entire army of little clones – _children_ – taught to _kill_ and you stopped looking for them, _and don't you dare say it's not true!_ They cloned my child, _tortured_ my child!, and now Creed's out there and it can't be a coincidence, not when it happened _just_ when the White House was attacked! It's all connected, woman, _and you stand there minding your own business!_ ” he screamed.

The silence that fell then – as he gasped for breath, disheveled and wide-eyed and white-faced with rage – was unbearable. It sounded all, Quentin could see it in many faces, as ravaging ramblings. What Daken said _could_ be reasonable, but the sheer _magnitude_ of it – it was better to think it crazy talk, Quentin saw it in Billy's eyes; better to think it the exhausted words of an exhausted father, the pity in Jubilation's eye said.

With terrible softness Jubilation expressed that exact thought. “You're upset. You're worried about your child. I get it. We get it –”

“I'm not in hysterics, woman,” Daken growled. “ _Listen_ to me, to my _words_.”

“I am. And we need to think carefully about this, Daken. We can't just jump to conclusions. I'm... sorry we stopped looking for the clones –”

“This is not me throwing a tantrum because you aren't helping my family anymore, Lee.” Daken's eyes were slits. “I understood there was this other thing to think about – the attack. But you can't tell me that you don't think something is very, _very_ wrong here. Something simmering while you sit here and do _nothing_.”

“I'm doing all I can,” Jubilation said firmly, “We are _all_ doing all we can. We're dealing with horrors, Daken, and that's clear to us all. We lost two friends. _Thousands_ of mutants died. We made a step towards integration and then _ten_ steps back. And –” she looked around, “We're all exhausted. We all need to rest now –”

“Rest,” Daken spat, “I'll rest when I'm _dead_.”

He stalked off, and they all parted like the sea at Moses' passage; he radiated danger, a rage beyond words, a terrible exhaustion. He was about to collapse under all that weight and Quentin could do nothing. Daken passed him without a word, without a glance, and when Quentin made as if to follow him, Laura was suddenly at Quentin's side, grasping him by the arm.

“Don't,” she whispered, her voice faint. “Let him calm down. He'll come to you when he's ready.”

And he did.

 

* * *

 

A knock at Quentin's door woke him up; he illuminated the dark room with his flames, and saw it was almost 1 a.m. He'd crashed on the bed as soon as he'd reached his room, thinking he could just doze for a while before dinner, and he'd fallen asleep instead. He sat up, thinking he'd imagined the sound; but a soft knock came again.

Was it Daken?

Quentin rose from the bed and approached the door; when a third knock came, he opened it.

Daken had showered, and now the blood and gore were gone: he wore a simple shirt and a loose pair of pants; his wet hair was tied as tightly as ever. His expression made Quentin's stomach churn.

Quentin retreated from the doorway, letting him come in. “Hey,” he greeted softly. “Are you okay?”

Daken shook his head. His eyes were dark tunnels.

“Have you come to sleep? Let me rearrange the bed –” Daken shook his head again, closing the door behind him, and Quentin's heart skipped a beat. Daken was pale, and so terribly sad, of a sadness that was excruciating, and seemed to shake in the light of Quentin's flames.

He reached Quentin in a few steps, and leaned into him like he had no strength, no force of will. He pressed his forehead to Quentin's cheek and drew a few shaky breaths as Quentin embraced him lightly, as one would embrace a glass sculpture.

“I need to stop thinking, Quentin,” he murmured, his breath warm against Quentin's neck, “I – I can't anymore, I _can't_. I need to _stop_ –” his voice cracked, and Quentin held him tighter.

“Yes. I'm here.”

“I can't _sleep_ –” Daken sobbed, his hands coming up to yank the collar of Quentin's shirt. “I close my eyes and I see... I see terrible things, Quentin, I see Eike, and Maiko, and Creed, and _him_ , and he hurts my children, they take my children, they _hurt_ my –”

“Shhh,” Quentin tightened his embrace. “It's all right. I'm here. I'm here.”

Daken raised his head and kissed him.

It was desperate and tasted of salt. His cheeks were wet and he cupped Quentin's face and kissed him as if he needed the air from Quentin's lungs to breath, as if he were drowning. He held on to Quentin as if he were standing on the edge and Quentin was the only thing keeping him from falling, with an intensity that was violent and scary and terrible. He broke the kiss with a sob and then he was brushing his lips all over Quentin's face, pressing himself hard against Quentin as if he could hide inside him, his fingers rigid. His grip was iron-like but gentle, holding Quentin's head and keeping himself from harming him, and he was shaking all over. Quentin's chest tightened painfully.

When Daken pushed against him, Quentin walked backwards without a doubt, resolve burning in his veins. Daken was falling down, down, down and he could ease it... he could take Daken and hold him and make the world stop spinning around him. He knew what Daken would have done well before Daken actually did it; he let himself be pushed on the bed and there he lay, looking up at Daken as he straddled him... as the man reached behind his head, his eyes hard and pleading at the same time, and loosened his tie, letting his hair fall on his shoulders – they were curled at the ends.

Daken bent down to kiss him, small quick desperate brushes of his lips, his wet hair a curtain around their heads; he was grinding down on him and already Quentin felt his cock harden as he pushed up against Daken – as he felt that Daken was still soft. He run his hands up Daken's back, and caressed him slowly as he revised one by one the steps he would follow. He would do it. He could; and he _would_.

Daken parted slightly from him, a hand running down Quentin's chest, Quentin's stomach; and he unbuttoned Quentin's pants without waiting, without _asking_ if he could as he usually did. He was giving Quentin an opportunity, an entry line, and Quentin would take it.

Quentin lay still as Daken wrapped his fingers around his length and stroked it slowly as he pressed small kisses to Quentin's mouth. Quentin tried not to give in to the blissful sensation, stilled his muscles even as he ached desperately to thrust into Daken's hand. He found a hard core inside himself and drew from it – from the place where the flames rested, where a bird of prey lay dormant. He coated himself with steel and drew barriers around them, cloaking them, so that they couldn't be heard – he didn't know how Daken would be. Quiet? Or maybe, as the layers were peeled off, he would be completely different?

When he felt ready – when that core inside him was still and hardened – he reached down to catch firmly Daken's wrist; and he opened his mouth, and he caught Daken's lower lip, and he bit down – not hard enough to draw blood, he hoped, but enough to hurt. He looked up at Daken, Daken whose eyes were wide, whose hand was already shaking around Quentin's cock, and released Daken's lip to speak.

“You didn't ask permission.”

Daken stilled like a deer caught in carlight, his breath caught in his throat; his pupils were dilated. Quentin dug deeply his fingers into Daken's wrist, his short nails almost cutting the tender, thin flesh; Daken's breath was coming out shallow – his eyes were fixed on Quentin, transfixed. Quentin debated whether to summon some more flames, but decided against it for the moment, and turned up the light in the room instead, looking up at Daken with the sternest expression he could summon. Daken's hand went slack around Quentin's cock.

Slowly, Quentin raised his other hand and caught Daken's throat, digging his nails into it, and rasped: “Get off of my bed.” He released Daken then, and Daken rolled off of him quickly, landing on the floor, and he looked like he was about to stand up.

“ _There_ , boy,” Quentin snapped, and was rewarded by an acute yelp. Daken stayed where he was, on the floor, a knee still up, head tilted towards him. Hoisting himself up on his forearms, Quentin trailed his gaze over Daken's rigid body; the man's features betrayed a naked eagerness to please – sheer gratitude shone in his eyes for a second.

 _Yes_. “You weren't trained properly, were you?” Quentin slid his legs off the bed, the tip of his toes dangling just in front of Daken's face. “ _Answer_ me.”

Daken's breath caught in his throat again; then, he dipped his head down, “I'm sorry, I –”

“I can't hear you.”

“I –”

“Look at me when I talk to you, _boy._ ”

Daken whipped his head up, pupils blown, “I'm sorry, I'll behave, I promise, I –”

“I care _not_ for these empty apologies.” Quentin sat up fully, gaze on Daken. There was something in the way he was postured, submissive, almost desperate to shy away from Quentin and yet keeping himself still, that was horrifyingly fascinating. It was affecting Quentin, too, even as he'd taken into account that he could go soft while doing this – he wasn't accustomed to the submission being so painfully _real_ as it was for Daken. This was one step further than what a sub was, this was dancing around a very fine line: this was _embedded_ in Daken's brain, plain and simple. He'd thought seeing the effects of it, seeing Daken like this, could stop him; but no, he was still hard. He was doing this _for_ Daken and Daken had the means to stop him, and his heart sang and he was still hard. “You were an embarrassment today, boy. Howling like a mad dog. Are you a mad dog?”

“ _No_ –” Daken protested, shaking his head.

“No? That's what I saw, though. I thought you could control yourself, boy.” Experimentally, Quentin raised a leg, touching Daken's lips with his toes. Daken didn't move, wide eyes trained on him. Should he tell Daken to lick his foot? Should he – _no_. Humiliation wasn't what Daken needed. Quentin let his leg fall. “Was I wrong?”

“I'm sorry, I –”

“No, no, no, this won't do. It won't do at all.” Quentin bent down, reached out and caught Daken's hair, yanking it to raise his head.

“I'm sorry –”

“Can't you even show some _proper_ respect? Are you so badly trained?”

Daken hastened to his knees, tried to lower his head, but Quentin was still firmly holding his hair. “No, I – I –”

“I seem to recall,” Quentin said slowly, and he let go of Daken's hair, “I seem to recall a nice, respectful, Japanese tradition.”

Daken stopped breathing for the longest moment; then he exhaled: “ _Yes_ , yes I'm _sorry_ –”

He bowed, falling into dogeza, his palms and forehead to the ground. He was trembling slightly.

“Ah, yes. Yes, that's what I was talking about. Good boy. Such a good boy.”

A whine escaped Daken's mouth. Burning heat surged through Quentin's veins. The Phoenix, aroused, wanted to devour and consume, passing its will to Quentin, that wanted only to drag Daken on the bed again – torn between comforting him and pinning his limp body to the mattress. But this was about _control_ , not only Daken's, but his too. He shut down the Phoenix's hunger.

Quentin went to his feet, stared down at Daken's still body – he was shaking, but he kept in place without a sound. Was this helping him? Was Quentin helping him?

They would have to find out. Steeling himself, Quentin summoned a few more flames.

“Look at you,” he said slowly, “Such obedience. You're a _good_ boy, aren't you?” He crouched low in front of Daken. “You kneel so prettily.” Passing his fingers between Daken's hair, he got a good handful of it and yanked Daken's head up.

Daken's pupils were still blown. “I'm sorry,” he exhaled, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry –”

“ _Enough_ ,” Quentin snapped. Daken's breath hitched. “You've said it enough,” Quentin said slowly, quietly, “How about you show me? Show me how sorry you are.” Getting to his feet, he dragged Daken up by his hair, twisting it in his hand; with the other, he pulled his cock out of his pants. He held Daken's face firmly in front of his erection. “Don't touch me with your hands. Keep them behind your back, boy.”

Nodding mutely, his gaze firmly trained in front of him, Daken obeyed; then he closed the little distance that was still between them and took Quentin into his mouth. Quentin tried not to show anything, tried to school his breath... but there was something indecent in the way Daken was looking up at him for approval as he bobbed his head, his tongue tracing patterns on Quentin's skin, his mouth burning heat. Quentin had to stop himself from thrusting into it, showing self-control even if he ached to bury his fingers in Daken's hair and moan with abandon. He managed to produce an appreciative hum instead, as he nodded down at Daken. “Good, good, you're very good,” he murmured. “So good.” Daken closed his eyes, sucking in earnest now, drawing a hiss out of him.

God, Quentin was going to come right there if he wasn't more careful. He dragged his nails along Daken's scalp, eliciting a deep, throaty moan whose vibrations almost sent Quentin on edge. He thrust lightly, so lightly, and Daken took it in stride, showing no hesitation at all, licking and sucking and moving his head towards Quentin. It would have taken so little to thrust into that mouth in earnest –

No. No, he wouldn't do that. It wasn't what Daken needed.

“Enough,” Quentin managed to say, noticing that there was a light waver in his voice. He felt rivulets of sweat running down his back.

Daken stopped his motion, his eyes fluttering open to look up at him. He looked utterly debauched, his lips curved around Quentin's cock so tightly – _Control yourself._ “You were very good.” Quentin trailed his nails on Daken's head again; Daken squinted his eyes, moaning lightly. “But I have other things in mind for you, boy.” Another moan, deeper this time. Keeping Daken's head firmly in place, Quentin slowly slid out of him and left that hot mouth with a wet popping sound. Daken let his tongue trail over the length of Quentin's cock, and for a moment his head moved forward, struggling against Quentin's hold, following Quentin's retreat. Quentin managed to sneer at this. “So eager, are you?”

Daken winced.

“ _Answer_ me,” Quentin yanked Daken's hair, “Did you want me to fuck your mouth?” He pulled his pants down his thighs as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Well?”

Daken stared up at him with dark hooded eyes. “I want whatever you want, master.”

 _Quentin's_ breath hitched at this, his heart skipping a beat. “Are you trying to be clever, boy?” He snarled , “Do you think this is a game?” He yanked hard Daken's hair, pulling his head towards him, and heard a crack – maybe a vertebra had snapped; he was bending Daken's neck to an unnatural angle. Daken merely yelped, his breath accelerating. Would he _remember_ that he could stop everything if he wanted to? Did he need a reminder?

Quentin let go of Daken's hair. It was time to check in, anyway. “What's your color, boy?”

Daken blinked, still as a statue. He wet his lips. “Green?”

“What's that question mark at the end, boy?” Quentin snapped. “I asked you, _what's your color?_ ”

Daken blinked again. “Green.”

“Good.” Quentin nodded. “Take off my clothes.”

He knew he had gone in the right direction when Daken's eyes widened, his hands coming in a haste to rest over Quentin's pants. He recalled Daken's blown pupils as he was removing Quentin's shoes in Tokyo; he had noticed, even if he'd been so drunk he hadn't been able to have a proper conversation, even if he had ruined _everything_ , how Daken had been turned on by it. Daken had said it took long to make him hard, but kneeling in front of Quentin and _servicing_ him had sorted that effect pretty quickly.

As Daken slowly pulled away Quentin's trousers, revealing inch by inch of his skin, Quentin forced himself not to ease his task and focused on Daken's reactions instead – especially the way he was avoiding, with utmost care, to touch Quentin's body; the way his lips parted in quiet breathing.

Daken folded neatly Quentin's pants and put them on the bed, his eyes cast down. “Master?” he said quietly – almost as if afraid to speak.

“Yes.”

“May I stand up to remove your shirt, master?”

“You may.”

Daken lost no time, bending over him without touching him, his fingers unbuttoning quickly Quentin's shirt, then easing it off Quentin's shoulders. He folded it as neatly as the pants and then retreated a few steps from the bed. He stood still, eyes cast down, waiting.

His compliance was maddening and utterly erotic.

Quentin climbed back on the bed, settling for a sitting position for now, and contemplated his options. This seemed to be going in the right direction, Daken apparently satisfied with how this was going. Was he letting it all flow past him, as control was stripped away from him? Was this bringing him the respite he'd been yearning?

And the moment of truth was approaching; would Quentin manage to actually hurt Daken? So far this had been plain roleplay, after all; no harm had been done yet. But to do what he'd decided to do? That was uncharted territory. That had never been a component of his sexual life. Not with Evan – he bit down the bile, shut down that line of thought – and not with Idie, despite their other experiments: they'd been young and adventurous and had enjoyed taking turns, but they'd never _hurt_ each other.

The very thought made his stomach churn; at the same time, the idea of providing Daken with what he most needed made simmering heat pool in his lower abdomen.

“Strip,” Quentin ordered, “Slowly.”

And, oh, did he obey. Daken locked eyes with him, fingers unbuttoning his shirt slowly, maddeningly slowly, a button at a time, fabric parting partially to show his skin underneath. Quentin focused on the imperfections Daken had been so worried about, in order to understand his fear of Quentin _being revolted by his skin_... but they weren't imperfections to Quentin; they were mere wrinkles, lovely signs of aging.

This was intimate, more intimate than anything Quentin had ever felt or done. He felt at home.

It had been so much time since he'd felt that feeling.

 _Aeons_ , sighed the Phoenix.

There was something raw and haunting and terribly soft in Daken's gaze as he undressed with such care. Quentin couldn't stop his own breath from accelerating at the display, nor his chest from tightening painfully at the realisation: this was something Daken used to do, had done, had perfected over years – the true meaning of his asking not to use the specific word _undress_ was now clear to Quentin. This was something he had done for that bastard, the technique perfected over fifty years, ever since he was a tiny, tiny boy. Undressing for sex was normal, certainly something Daken wasn't self-conscious about, but Quentin could _sense_ the difference in this, in his eyes, in his posture; this was a message, this was him baring himself utterly and completely – Quentin bit his tongue to stop himself from thinking about that animal, and focused on the shirt now slowly sliding off Daken's shoulders, revealing his complex tattoo.

The shirt fell on the floor. Slowly, oh, ever so slowly, Daken's hands reached the hem of his trousers, his fingers found the button and dislocated it and slowly, slowly, slowly, inch by inch, he slid out of them, let them pool at his feet.

And now his hands were catching his boxers, and he hesitated, but then he slid out of them as well, and he stood naked in front of Quentin, waiting for him to speak. He was still soft: his cock hung heavily. His hands were moving over his hips, almost as if he wanted to cover himself, hide that from view; and Quentin, his chest throbbing painfully, thought he had never seen anything more perfect in his life. Daken's expression was... utterly vulnerable, as if awaiting for a dismissal or maybe even an insult, guarded and hopeful and his eyes, oh, his eyes were burning.

“You're beautiful,” Quentin exhaled.

Daken's breath, that had quieted as he undressed, hitched at the words.

“Come here,” Quentin whispered, because he wasn't sure he would be able to resist much longer. Daken obeyed, coming quickly to stand beside the bed, staring down at Quentin, waiting. Looking up at him, Quentin reached for Daken's hand and caught it, feeling the need to reassure him, to break out of this thing if even for a moment. He pressed a kiss to Daken's palm. _I'm here_ , he thought. _You can walk out of this any moment. You know that_. Daken's breath caught in his throat at the kiss, his fingers lingering lightly over Quentin's cheek, more a ghost than an actual presence.

Quentin let go of Daken's hand. “On the bed,” he ordered, making space for him, his voice now sterner. Daken climbed on the bed, watching him as a child in need of guidance. He knelt on the mattress, hands on his thighs, waiting.

Quentin retreated to the edge of the bed, patting on the mattress. “On your back, here.”

Daken obeyed immediately, and lay on his back, his head on the pillow, hair spread like a halo, looking at Quentin from beneath his eyelashes. He was breathing so quietly, his lips slightly parted, but his chest was heaving.

Quentin lay a hand over Daken's knee. “Spread your legs.” As he obeyed, Quentin quickly rid himself of his underpants, then he settled on his knees between Daken's thighs. He bent low, setting both hands on the mattress at the sides of Daken's head, hovering above him without touching him.

“You're such a good boy,” he exhaled, mouth just inches above Daken's, and the effect the words were having on Daken was worth how strange they tasted in his mouth, how foreign. Daken was staring up at him, pupils blown, with such trust, and such anticipation, that Quentin once again felt his chest ache so much, so _much_... “But you need to relearn a lesson.” Quentin caressed Daken's cheek. A soft whine was the only answer. “We'll play a game,” Quentin lifted himself slowly, “And if you'll be good, I'll take care of you. And if you'll be _very_ good,” he added, hand lowering to Daken's chest, “I'll give you what you need.”

If he had thought Daken had shown signs of arousal before, he wasn't ready to the wreck his words caused on Daken's face, the man's lips parting in shallow, quick gasps.

“The game is simple.” Quentin trailed a finger over the tattooed dragon paw, then raised his hand from Daken's chest by an inch. “In a moment I'm going to do something. Something that could hurt you. Or I could change my mind and do something that doesn't hurt you. Or I could do both. Whatever I do, you have two choices. You don't emit a sound, unless I _ask_ you to, or if you need to tell me that your color has changed.” He cocked his head. “Or you _do_ emit sounds, let me hear everything I'm doing to you – and again, you can and will tell me if your color has changed. Two paths. It's your choice. You decide what you need, but remember that you need to stick to it. The game stops when you switch from one to the other – or if you change color, of course. It's a game where you don't lose, but the outcomes will be different. I'll decide which one when we finish. All clear so far?”

Daken nodded, apparently unable to speak. He was staring up at him with wide eyes, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I _won't_ punish you, boy,” Quentin reiterated firmly. “Is that clear? There's no _wrong_ choice. You can do what _you_ want.” He adjusted his position as Daken lowered his eyelids, accepting the rules. “What's your color now, boy?”

“Green.” Daken's answer was strangled.

“Good boy. The game starts now.”

God, this was it. Quentin would take it slow, only upping it gradually.

He summoned the Phoenix's flames on his fingertips, and allowed them to burn.

He remembered all too well when the Phoenix had taken control of his body, he remembered Daken's moans as it dug its burning fingers into Daken's flesh. He wasn't doing so now, but the heat would be perceived all the same; and as they went on – Quentin would decide moment by moment.

Carefully, carefully, he set a finger just above a nipple and hovered it sideways to the other one. Daken's chest was heaving, this was probably nothing to him –

Daken had decided to play the silent game. That suffocating need for control was so imbued in him, that it overrode even his need to let go of everything. He'd probably equated emitting sounds with _losing_ and had reacted accordingly, even if Quentin had told him not to worry about that. In a sense, it _would_ have been losing – losing control, losing oneself, letting go. Quentin had hoped he would do that from the start; he shouldn't have given such a conflicting set of rules, but he'd wanted to give Daken the choice. That was important, _that_ was the lesson: Daken had to learn that he was allowed to let go, that he had to take the first step and not wait for a direct order.

He decided not to look at Daken. He lost himself in the lines of his old tattoo, followed them with utmost care... When he reached down, the last lines joining the groin, Daken's soft cock was leaking precome. _Huh_. Quentin lingered there just a moment to have Daken think about it, prepare for something, _anticipate_ something; but then went back _up_ , mercilessly, and this time he lowered his hand just so, not much, still not enough to actually touch him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daken's arms moving, Daken's hands fisting the sheets spasmodically.

God, he hadn't thought he would elicit such a response, and he hadn't thought, not really, about how it would affect him. Giving Daken what he needed, seeing him like _this_ and knowing he was helping him – it was erotic in a way he hadn't expected, it was enough to have his heart swell with pride, his cock ache, the Phoenix burn through his veins as sweat dripped down his back.

He hadn't wanted to _harm_ Daken. But this... this was safe for the both of them, this wasn't abuse, this was consensual and was bringing Daken on edge and Daken was in _control_ of this, could stop this if he wanted. Quentin became bolder, touching Daken now, keeping his touch as light as he could; red irritated lines were forming on Daken's skin. Daken's chest was heaving at a steady rhythm: Quentin could hear the air whistling through his nose. He risked a glance up at Daken.

He froze. Daken was biting his lower lip hard – was _bleeding_ from it, his dark eyes fixed on Quentin, transfixed.

Transfixed himself, Quentin bent low. He was consumed with the sudden, burning desire to make Daken emit a sound; for a second, his intent – the very reason he was doing this, helping Daken, he was helping Daken – was replaced by a fiery hunger.

_No. Control. Yourself._

Daken had nothing but trust in his eyes. Quentin wasn't going to break it – he wasn't going to lose it.

Quentin pressed his tongue flat over Daken's lips and licked, the metallic taste of Daken's blood giving him just a hint of nausea but oh, _oh..._ the sharp intake of breath, the widening of Daken's eyes, the _snikt_ echoing in the room. It sent a burning surge of heat up Quentin's spine. Quentin felt his lips quirk in a smirk as he lifted himself again, and glanced to the side as if hit by an amused afterthought. The claws were out, all of them, entangled with the sheets, pinned to the mattress. Quentin had _made them unsheathe._

It wasn't enough. He wanted Daken to make a sound, he _needed_ Daken to make a sound.

Quentin returned his gaze to Daken's face, and saw the man staring up at him with wonder and lust, utter lust.

But Quentin wanted more. He reached to the side, caught Daken's left arm, disentangled the claws from the sheets, and brought it towards him. Staring down at Daken, he brought Daken's hand to his face and licked Daken's wrist, just there where the claw slid out of his flesh. Again he elicited a harsh intake of breath but nothing more; he wanted, _oh_ , he wanted, he wanted more, more, more, _more_ –

Quentin dragged his tongue up the length of Daken's wrist claw – the taste was strange, but not unpleasant. He licked as he would have done had he been licking a cock, locking his gaze with Daken, and –

Daken's lips parted in a gasp, his entire body trembling and writhing beneath Quentin.

Then he froze, wide-eyed.

Triumph shot through Quentin's veins, a screech echoed in his head. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his own mind clear; Quentin wanted nothing more than to ravage Daken here and now. _Control yourself. Control. Yourself_. This wasn't about him, this was about Daken. This wasn't a game he'd just won, this was to be an exercise in patience on his part, so that he could be Daken's haven.

Quentin smirked against Daken's claw, its taste lingering on his tongue. “It appears we're done.”

Daken was shaking his head ever so slightly, bottomless pits fixed on Quentin.

“No?” Quentin bent low to capture Daken's jaw with a hand. He tried to convey as much brutality in the gesture as he could muster, suppressing the intense desire to turn that motion into a caress. “ _No_ , boy?”

Daken merely shook his head again, refusing to speak and confirm the end of the game by it. He seemed hell-bent on what he thought would be winning; that made Quentin think.

“ _Ah_. Well, I suppose you're right. You didn't emit a _sound_ , per se, only air. I could indulge you.” He let go of Daken's jaw. _Should_ he indulge Daken? Maybe he should go further, maybe Daken would push his own limits till Quentin broke them. He _wanted_ Quentin to break them. “A second chance, then. What could I do, though –”

An idea hit him then, unbidden and violent, gloriously erotic, but dangerous. He would have to be extra careful but _oh_ – it would surely wreck Daken. It was perfect.

The decision must have reflected somehow on his face, because Daken inhaled sharply and tilted his head in a sudden, yet almost coy show of defiance.

This _wasn't_ going as planned. Well, he'd revise everything later, discuss it with Daken. For now, Quentin was burning with a need that almost made him shake.

He trailed his middle finger down Daken's chest, in a clean straight burning line that left the flesh red. He felt Daken's gaze on him, but he didn't look up because he had to be extremely careful with this – he didn't want to harm Daken in any way. The air itself, filled with the distinctive smell of burning, seemed to still; Quentin could hear Daken's quiet gasps and something else too... his own breathing, quick and shallow. He felt slick with sweat; out of the corner of his eye, as his finger reached the thin hair just above the groin and continued farther down, he saw Daken's thighs tense, and his calves tremble with the exertion as he kept himself still.

Carefully, carefully – Quentin had to be careful – he bypassed Daken's soft cock, reached and passed his hipbone; he trailed lightly his finger over Daken's inner thigh, then went back _up_ , his target obvious; and yet, when he reached the perineum he raised his finger for a mercy, not wanting to burn that sensitive flesh.

There was no reaction. Quentin stilled; had he gone too far? Had he hurt Daken? Had he –

He couldn't hear Daken's breathing anymore.

He looked up. Daken's head had dropped back; his mouth was open, his chest still. _Fuck_ . Daken's fingers dug deeply into the mattress, as if he could rip it with the brute force of his hands only. _Jesus_ fucking _Christ, fuck, fuck..._ Dismissing the flames, Quentin surged forward, and saw that Daken's pupils had dilated even further, taking _over_ the irises; something that _wasn't_ possible, what –

Fucking _Romulus_ , that was what. Seething, Quentin cupped Daken's cheek. _Had_ he gone too far? Daken would have used the safeword had he needed it, right? They'd _agreed_ on it –

Unless Daken was so caught up in the _game_ that it hadn't even occurred to him.

Time to fucking take the reins.

“ _Breathe_ , boy,” he said sternly, hoping it would work, and Daken _obeyed_ , as if that were the only thing he had been waiting for, his chest moving again, quiet gasps filling the room. Relief surged through Quentin's veins.

Fucking hell. All right, Daken _knew_ his boundaries, and it stood to reason that he wouldn't have let Quentin do _anything_ he couldn't have survived... and all things considered, what Quentin had been doing wasn't certainly life-threatening. But what had just happened was something else. Rather than giving in, Daken had held himself back to the point he'd stopped breathing, as if he _couldn't_ do anything else, as if he couldn't help himself. This wasn't what they'd agreed on, wasn't what he'd told Quentin he wanted. Maybe he really wasn't going to make that first step on his own, maybe it was still too soon for him to. Quentin had wanted to give him the choice, but apparently he really had to be _forced_ to let go. It was a damn contradiction and Quentin should have _known_ , dammit. It had all backfired horribly.

Now Daken was expecting – what? The reward? Or did he expect Quentin to continue hurting him, as he _still_ hadn't emitted any sound and so, by the rules, they weren't finished yet?

Stop the game _right fucking now_ , check in, then decide about the rest. Quentin steeled himself, hid the tumult he was feeling behind a smile. “It appears you bested me.” He caressed Daken's cheek. “You've been very good. So good –” Settling back on his heels, he raised the other hand to cup Daken's face. It was slick with sweat – his hair was damp, as were the sheets. “You can speak now, boy. We're done. You've been such a good boy. ”

As soon as the last words left his mouth, a soft whine escaped Daken's, and the man let the mattress go, fingers spasmodically rigid, claws entangled with the sheets.

“Have I?” Daken whimpered, the sound utterly vulnerable.

“Yes, yes you have. _So_ good. You control yourself so well.” Quentin traced with a thumb Daken's bloodied lips, that immediately parted, and the tip of Daken's tongue caressed the thumb for a moment – then Daken opened his mouth wider, as if expecting Quentin to push his thumb inside. Daken's pupils were so wide, but they were _normally_ dilated now, the iris visible. “What's your color, boy?” Quentin asked softly.

“Green,” Daken exhaled.

Green. Fucking _green_. He'd nearly given Quentin a heart attack and his color was _green_.

“All right.” Quentin considered his options. He briefly considered stopping everything, but Daken was _fine_ , despite the not-breathing part, and his color was still green. He was looking up at Quentin with that same gut-wrenching trust, and now he was emitting those little sounds in the back of his throat that he made sometimes. His mouth was still open, as if really awaiting for Quentin's thumb.

Experimentally, Quentin pushed it past Daken's lips, who did go on to suck it, a deep redness tinging his cheeks. The sight broke the wind out of Quentin. Daken wanted to continue, it was obvious. He wanted whatever Quentin had planned next.

“Boy,” Quentin said softly, his breath quickening as Daken just kept on sucking, a disconcerting bliss on his face. “Tell me, and be honest. Do you want me to fuck you now?”

“ _Yes._ ” Daken's lips parted around Quentin's thumb.

 _Yes. All right._ They were about to have sex for the first time and it was to be like this, and it wasn't what Quentin had imagined, but at the same time it felt so undeniably _right_. Seeing that trust in Daken's eyes, knowing how much it meant...

“Yes, _what_?” Quentin pulled his thumb away to grip Daken's jaw, thus forming a thin thread of saliva on Daken's chin. Daken whined.

“ _Yes_ , master.”

“Good boy. Good boy –” Quentin used his telekinesis to open his nightstand's drawer and take out of it the bottle of lube he'd procured. As it reached them, Daken's eyes left his and glanced sideways – they narrowed ever so slightly. They returned to Quentin's right away, not a word coming out of his mouth; but Quentin had seen that something was off. “What is it, boy?”

Daken shook his head. “Nothing, master.”

Quentin tightened his grip on Daken's face. “ _Tell_ me.”

“I –”

“Yes?”

“I don't want it, master.” It was almost a whisper.

Quentin let the bottle hover between them. “ _This_? You don't want this?”

“No, master.” Daken winced. “ _Please_.”

Quentin should have expected it. He _should_ have known. He sent the lube back on the nightstand and braced himself. “You're such a pain whore, aren't you?” he spat, “Do you want me to hurt you, then, boy?”

“Yes –”

“Do you want me to tear your insides?”

“ _Yes_ –”

“Do you want me to rip you apart?”

“ _Yes_ , yes, yes –” Daken was utterly gone, eyes dark, so dark, so very dark – his tongue darted to try and reach Quentin's thumb, that was at the corner of his mouth. Quentin gave in and thrust three fingers inside Daken's mouth, watched him lick and suck them. _God_ , he was about to come just at the crazed look in Daken's eyes.

Bracing himself on the other arm, he bent low and retired his fingers, now coated with saliva, from Daken's mouth. He _would_ prepare Daken, even if not as thoroughly and carefully as he would have liked to.

He reached down and worked the fingers inside Daken – slowly, but all three of them at once; if Daken wanted to be hurt, this was the better, fastest way. Quentin thrust his fingers and twisted them as fast as he could; he managed not to falter at the sensation of something tearing – Daken arched against him as needy, little, quick sounds escaped his mouth, his hips pushing back in a frenzy.

Quentin kept his gaze on Daken's face... studied the way it contorted, it fell apart, lips moving as he tried to say something and failed.

“ _Tell_ me, boy.”

“ _Master_ ,” a gasp. God, Quentin needed to bury himself in him, he was _aching_ with the need, but he had.

To show self-control.

Now.

 _Especially_ now. “What is it?” Calm and collected. Even if he was burning, the Phoenix screeching, tearing, snarling, the flames kept at bay –

“Master. Master, master, master –”

“Tell me.”

“Please. Please, please, please, please –”

“You beg so _prettily_.”

“ _God_.” Daken sobbed. “ _Fuck_ me, please master, please, please, _please_ –”

“Ask a bit more nic–”

Daken whined, a long keen sound, and he was gone, utterly gone. Quentin wouldn't elicit anything more coherent from him.

He sat back on his heels. Fingers still twisting fast inside Daken, he debated whether to put on a condom or not. He should, but the dry material against unlubed skin was going to hurt like hell, and Daken would take the worst of it. Yes, he'd explicitly asked for pain, but that felt excessive – hell, a dry condom was very likely to break anyway, thus defeating its purpose.

And Daken should be clean, given his healing factor. Of course, it wasn't working properly, so Quentin couldn't be sure...

This was something they should have discussed beforehand, wasn't it? Quentin bit his lower lip. Was Daken coherent enough to be asked what did he think about it? Looking at his writhing, whimpering form, Quentin somehow doubted it, but he was going to try.

“Boy.” Quentin stilled his fingers, felt Daken's muscles clench around them as the man whined in distress. “Boy, listen to me. Do we need a condom? I'm clean.” Daken's lips moved, but no answer came. “Boy. Answer me. Do we need –” Daken shook his head frantically, whimpers escaping his mouth.

So Quentin smeared his own precome down his length to have at least some lubrication, removed his fingers from Daken, dragged him closer and _finally_ , oh, _oh_ , he carefully pushed inside Daken, biting his lower lip to stop the sounds threatening to escape his own mouth.

It felt like coming home. Oh, oh, it had been so long,

the Phoenix sighed,

and Daken, Daken was _here_ –

Daken sobbed in relief as he threw his head back, hips rising to meet Quentin, but Quentin didn't move, giving Daken some time to adjust to the intrusion. _Control yourself._ God, he wanted nothing more than this – Daken was hot and tight, God, _so_ tight around him, but it was time for his final surprise and then he could give in... worry about himself too. He was close to coming just by seeing, _feeling_ Daken writhing that way – desperate, frantic, knowing _he_ had done this, _he_ had driven Daken to the edge like this.

“Move,” Daken begged, voice found again, “Move, move, please master move, please please please –”

“ _Patience_ , boy.” It should have been firm, but it came out strangled from Quentin's mouth. He caught Daken's hips and dug his fingers into them, and Daken stopped his writhing and pushed against Quentin – a gentle, almost timid motion. His eyes were half-closed, his lips parted, and he looked completely lost.

And Quentin with him.

 _Fuck_. Quentin forced himself to stay still. “I told you I would have given you what you needed,” he choked out, “Remember?”

“Onegaishimasu, onegai, onegai onegai onegai _onegai_ –”

No, Daken was gone. He wasn't listening. Taking a deep breath, Quentin summoned the Phoenix's flames on his fingertips again.

As if a chord had snapped out of place Daken moaned, wrecked and _loud_ , arching and bringing Quentin up to his knees with the force of his hips, bringing them both to an angle that looked thoroughly uncomfortable for him: heels dug into the mattress, he was bracing himself on the covers, claws still out, eyes squinted shut, pale throat exposed and shining with sweat.

He looked amazing.

Quentin kept still, the smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils. “Your color?” it screeched – no, he growled. He could still dismiss the flames if they were too much – judging from that moan, they weren't, but he needed an answer now, before he lost control, God, he was so close, he needed to _move_ –

Daken whimpered, hips pushing against Quentin more forcefully now. “Mm,” he hummed, “Mmm... mmm...” Was he okay?

“Boy. Your color.” _Oh God_ , Quentin begged, shaking, _please answer,_ answer –

“ _Midori_ ,” Daken whined.

 _Green_.

And Quentin _lost_ it; with a sob of relief, he pulled out and thrust in again as he kept the flames on his fingertips, setting a quick pace.

It was frantic and loud and so violently, achingly beautiful... to rock into Daken, to watch his face as he came undone – and it ended pretty much immediately.

Daken's moans were interrupted by a sudden whimper and his soft bouncing cock shoot a weak spurt of come. He trembled for a long time, emitting shaky moans every now and then, but he didn't stop moving. He kept rocking against Quentin, meeting his increasingly frantic thrusts, murmuring, “Burn me, burn me, burn me, burn me, burn me, burn me,” the words mingling with Quentin's own broken moans.

As asked, Quentin kept the flames on as he brought himself on edge. God, there was the most perfect look of bliss on Daken's face, and then Daken opened his eyes, and they were so soft and _oh_ , he moved against Quentin in such a wicked, exquisite way, as if he were taking care of Quentin now –

Oh, it was too much, Daken was _too much_ , he... he –

a flash of white across his vision, screeches of worlds burning to death in his ears.

There was silence in the room for a while, broken only by his quick gasps. God, he'd _never_ come so violently. He was shaking.

He wondered, as he stared at Daken's utterly soft features – as he dismissed the flames, the smell of burned skin in his nostrils – if this had been enough. If he'd helped Daken take his mind off everything, if only for a little while.

He began to pull out of Daken; the position was probably uncomfortable for him, his hips still lifted and feet firmly planted into the mattress so that he was bent unnaturally backwards.

“ _No_.”

Quentin stilled, eyes searching Daken's. They were still so dark. “Daken?”

Daken's features softened even more. “Stay there. Please.” Slowly, he lowered himself; Quentin followed the movement with care, bracing himself on the covers. When they were level with the mattress, Quentin stretched his legs out. He felt himself softening inside Daken.

Daken was breathing so quietly, looking at him with such tenderness, that Quentin felt his chest ache. Daken retracted his claws and embraced Quentin, pressing him closely to his chest. Quentin tried not to keep his entire weight on him, but Daken didn't seem to mind.

Quentin settled on his elbows and kept silent for a while, the warmth of Daken's arms the only reassurance of his presence: Daken's gaze was remote – he seemed not entirely there, fingers trailing lightly over Quentin's shoulders. He was still in his subspace.

“Daken?” Quentin eventually called, and nuzzled Daken's throat. Daken stirred, his heels caressing Quentin's calves.

“Yes,” said Daken softly.

“Are you all right?”

“Mh-mh.” One of Daken's hands traveled upward to caress Quentin's hair, a gentle pressure inviting Quentin to keep his face in the crook of Daken's neck.

Quentin brushed his lips against Daken's throat. “Was it okay?”

Daken laughed quietly. “Yes.”

“Did I overstep? Did I hurt you? Are you healing?”

“I'm fine, Quentin,” Daken reassured him, but his voice was wavering slightly. He tilted his head to press a kiss to Quentin's forehead. It was almost-not-there, a gentle touch of lips, delicate and affectionate. Quentin felt his heart swell.

“Are you sure?”

“You were perfect.” A faint, definitely tremulous whisper. Quentin lifted his head and –

 _Oh_ –

Daken's face was wet with tears, his features soft; the most heartbreaking smile graced his lips. Quentin's chest tightened. Hesitantly, he moved to kiss Daken – it was an ephemeral moment, a sudden instinct. He brushed his lips gently over Daken's face as Daken would sometimes do to him, as he'd done when he'd come into the room. Daken shut his eyes, and he sighed, tilting his head. Quentin didn't know how much time he spent like this – revering every line and inch of Daken's face, every wrinkle – but it was pure bliss.

Eventually, he pulled out gently, slowly, in case Daken still asked him to stay inside him; but Daken merely hummed and nodded, his face turned to the side to allow Quentin's kisses on his cheek, so Quentin took it as permission. Then he summoned two towels from the bathroom and proceeded to wipe them both as best as he could, his lips never leaving Daken's face.

He could go on for aeons, but Daken needed to rest. When he was finished with the cleaning he directed the towels back to the bathroom and tilted his head back. Daken's eyes fluttered open at the loss of contact, and they were so achingly soft still. He looked – oh, he looked _content_ , and that was all that mattered –

There was something bright in Quentin's chest, something so luminous and heavy that it hurt, something that pulsed and melted and run through his veins and overwhelmed him. He was struck by the sheer intensity of it, and wanted to shout it at the top of his lungs, wanted to cry, to laugh –

But Daken's eyelids were slowly closing, the man finally relaxed enough – or perhaps exhausted – to be claimed by sleep. He needed to rest; Quentin could wait. He had all the time in the world; they had all the time in the world.

Quentin gently maneuvered Daken so that they would both lay on their sides, pulled them both away from the wet patch on the blankets, and enveloped Daken in his embrace.

“Sleep,” he murmured, brushing his lips against Daken's forehead. “I'm here.” _I'll always be here._

Daken closed his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ “Otousan -” Maiko exhaled. “I think, I... I think that _not talking_ isn't the right way to do this.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longest day begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... that is, now begins a multi-chaptered mini-arc that takes place over the course of 24 hours. It will be a fun ride, filled with happiness ~~I'm joking. Run while you still can, **RUN**~~
> 
> As always, friendly reminder that I'm not a native speaker, so if you find any error feel free to tell me/cringe/ignore it at your leisure.

20.

“And I could hear the thunder and see the lightning crack;  
All around the world was waking, I never could go back.  
Cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open,  
And finally it seemed that the spell was broken –  
And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open.”

Florence + the Machine - _Blinding_

 

 

Daken lay in blessed peace.

He was in a soft, warm cocoon, and he was home. He ached, but it was a good ache; his limbs were comfortably entangled with others. He felt so mollified, so relaxed, as if he could melt into the arms that were holding him.

He'd drifted out of a dreamless sleep slowly, his senses telling him that he was safe, that all was well. The body beside him radiated security, a feeling of closeness, of being cared about. It was soft and gentle and foreign, and it was a dream from which something urged him to wake up.

He opened his eyes and blinked blearily in the warm light.

Quentin was there beside him, was holding him and breathing quietly in his sleep; his relaxed face, rested on the pillow, brought a sigh to Daken's lips. He looked so peaceful; Daken was glad that the man was sleeping. He needed to, with all the worries that occupied his mind; with that guilt he always carried on his shoulders, with his taking upon himself every slight he perceived he'd done. He'd slept soundly, these past few days, holding Daken in his arms – whereas Daken hadn't managed to, his own nightly terrors keeping him awake despite Quentin's presence –

Daken stiffened. How, how had he _forgotten_? How could he wake up and not think of Eike immediately? How was it possible that he'd _slept_ , when Creed was out in the world, and could hurt Eike at any moment?

Quentin mumbled something in his sleep, and shuffled closer to him, his arm warm against Daken's waist.

 _Quentin._ Quentin had done it, had made it possible. Quentin had given him some respite, a blissful oblivion. A few hours of peace. Daken relaxed. Yes. It was thanks to him that Daken had rested tonight, that he'd avoided terrible nightmares. Quentin was truly his haven.

His chest ached as memories of the night came rushing in. Quentin had been perfect, imposing and considerate at the same time – quite creative, in fact. And he'd done it for Daken. Daken had come into his room in the middle of the night, desperate and aching for release, for an _escape_ from his nightmares... He would have been contented with just laying in Quentin's arms. That would have been enough, as it had been the night before that, and the one before that, ever since Madripoor.

He hadn't expected _anything_ from Quentin; but oh, Quentin had taken him and shattered him and brought him together with utmost care.

He'd known what to say, what to do. He'd known when to push, _how_ to push – even when to _stop_ , even if he hadn't realized why, hadn't probably realized that Daken was both anticipating and dreading those burning fingers' final journey, ready to cry out the safeword if Quentin were to push them _inside_ – but then Quentin had stopped everything on his own, had cupped Daken's cheek and told Daken to breathe.

And with the air coming through his nose, had come the realization that of _course_ Quentin wouldn't have done that; he was just teasing. Daken had thought he _would_ because of an unfortunate conflation, the memory of how Romulus used to prepare him brought to the forefront of his mind – something he'd known would happen: it was unavoidable. Some of the things Quentin had done... well, they'd brought back memories.

But Quentin wasn't set on harming him. Quentin had taken Romulus and pushed him away, far away from Daken's mind, and then had put something bright and whole in his place. He'd been perfect. He was perfect.

He was – Daken studied his features in the light of dawn, committing to memory every little detail of Quentin's face. The curve of his nose, the faint spray of freckles on it and on his cheeks. His pink curls, a color so garish but so undeniably him. That little scar almost hidden by the right sideburn.

God, he was breathtaking and he was holding Daken and he was perfect. Daken didn't want to ever leave his arms. Didn't want to ever leave _him_.

He would have to, eventually. But oh, for now – for now – he was here.

Overwhelmed, stupefied by the intensity of that thought, a lump in his throat, Daken closed the little distance between them and brushed his lips against Quentin's forehead.

Quentin stirred; Daken held his breath as the man blinked slowly awake.

“Hey,” Quentin murmured, a warm smile on his lips, and he looked so achingly beautiful, so precious. “What was that for?”

“For being here,” Daken exhaled before he could stop himself. It was so saccharine, but it was what he felt now, with such terrible urgency. Quentin's smile dazed him as the man shuffled closer still, eyes still sleepy. “Did I wake you up? I'm –”

“It was a really nice way of waking up.” Quentin placed a kiss on his jaw and hummed contentedly, fingers gently caressing Daken's spine.

“Nonetheless, I'm sorry.”

“S'fine.” Quentin rubbed his face against Daken's throat. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you, Quentin.” _Thanks_ to _you_.

“Good. I'm glad.” They stayed like that for a while. Was this what it was like to be at peace? It certainly seemed so. Quentin was a warm presence. They were buried by a great many layers of sheets and covers as well – Quentin couldn't certainly keep the Phoenix's flames on whilst he slept – and it almost seemed like a cocoon, a fort impossible to leave. It wasn't just the warmth that made him feel him that way – he'd always preferred it to the cold, which could rouse terrible memories, even now that so many years had passed. No, this was different. It wasn't the warmth – he simply didn't want to ever leave Quentin's arms.

Quentin inhaled as if to speak a great number of times, but always seemed to decide against it. His hands were moving gently over Daken's back and Daken wondered what he was about to say. He probably wanted to discuss Madripoor and Creed, like he'd tried to at the beginning – and like Laura still kept insisting to; but Daken didn't want to. He didn't want to hear anything: he _knew_ Eike was right.

And it was preferable to stay like this, silent and warm and safe, Quentin's very presence a reassurance.

Eventually, Quentin spoke, fingers trailing over Daken's spine. “Are you healing?”

Daken hadn't even thought of turning his attention to the burns; the ache he felt was enough. And he would heal. And if he didn't, well – who cared? “I suppose I am.”

“Let me see.” Quentin gently let go of Daken and went to a sitting position, the covers falling off of his back. He looked beautiful – the morning light caressed his skin in a breathtaking way, emphasizing the lines of his body. His brows knitted in concentration as he leaned forward, a hand pressing gently against Daken's shoulder so that he would turn, and Daken indulged him and lay on his back so that Quentin could see more easily.

He brushed his hair away from his face and watched as Quentin studied with utmost concentration every inch of Daken's chest and stomach, fingers trailing over every faint shadow of the signs he'd made; the flesh was healing, yes, but was still sensitive – in truth, on his stomach the skin was thinner and frailer than it had been in his youth, far more sensitive to the touch; Daken shivered at the contact.

“It looks fine,” Quentin said, middle finger brushing gently against the straight line that divided Daken in two halves, the line he'd painted last. He cocked his head to the side, brows furrowing – and his expression turned into one of utter dismay.

He let out a sound – an alarmed choked noise – as he caught Daken's waist and urged him to raise his hip; propping himself up, Daken looked at what had shocked Quentin so much.

_Ah._

There on his hip were five signs, five peculiar burns who appeared not to be healing; the traces of Quentin's fingertips, the places where he'd dug his fingers to have a firm hold of Daken and keep him in place as he fucked him. There would be, Daken guessed, twin burns on his other hip.

It was to be expected; whereas Quentin had been exceedingly careful during his game, he'd lost all control in that moment. God, how fierce he'd looked as he pounded into Daken, how majestic.

Turning his attention to Quentin again, Daken saw the horror in the man's eyes – much like when he'd seen Daken for the first time after the Phoenix _accident_.

“God, I shouldn't have,” Quentin said, voice tight with emotion, and Daken reached out to cover the man's hand, that was still pressed against Daken's waist.

“You most certainly should have. It was good, Quentin.”

“No, it wasn't –”

“Did I stop you?” As Quentin stared at him, Daken added: “You asked my color, didn't you?”

“Yes, but –”

“It was well done, Quentin, and it brought me pleasure. I can _assure_ you of that.”

“I –” Quentin blushed violently. It was so endearing. “I noticed that.”

“I bet.” If Daken recalled correctly, he'd been quite loud from that moment onward. “There's no need to worry, Quentin.”

“But what if they _don't_ heal?” Quentin questioned, gaze lowering to Daken's hip, “ _Look_ at them, they're deep! What if they stay like this?” He looked up at Daken again, nothing but desperation in his eyes. Daken felt his chest ache at such a display of worry. Quentin reached up, cupped Daken's face. “What if they stay like _this_ , if they don't heal like _this_ scar?” His fingers passed gently over the one on his cheek, the one still remaining after all the others that the Phoenix had inflicted had healed.

Daken sighed. “It doesn't matter,” he said quietly.

“I _hurt_ you –”

“It doesn't matter.”

“But you'll have _scars!_ ”

“Then they'll mark me yours.” Daken caught Quentin's hand, and kissed his fingertips, one by one. Quentin's breath hitched – if it did so at the words or at the gesture, Daken didn't know.

“You're not mine,” Quentin said then, very quietly, and: “You're not anyone's,” and Daken smiled and kissed Quentin's fingertips again, his palm, his wrist. There was the most peculiar expression on Quentin's face, soft and hard at the same time; then he bent down suddenly, and with the hand that was still pressed against Daken's waist, covered by Daken's, he dragged Daken to his side again; and he lowered more, and he hesitated, breath warm against the sensitive flesh of the burns on Daken's hip. “May I?”

Chest tightening painfully, Daken murmured an assent. Quentin's lips brushed very gently against the ruined skin, but Daken's nerves screamed all the same at the contact. But oh, did the pain matter? Quentin was revering that small portion of skin as if he'd done a terrible wrong to Daken, and the mere gesture brought a lump to Daken's throat – a craving for that mouth on his. He let go of Quentin's hand, and ran his fingers through Quentin's hair.

“Quentin,” he murmured, and there was so much wonder in his voice that he almost couldn't recognize it. Moving his hand to Quentin's nape, he urged him to move upwards and set his attention elsewhere. They kissed slowly, gently – so gently – Quentin's hand was warm, pressed against his side; his fingers restless. Quentin hummed, a pleasant sound, and Daken raked his fingers through Quentin's curls. His other hand was still holding Quentin's, now between them on the pillows; their fingers were laced together, brushed against Quentin's cheek.

He felt at home.

He felt so much at home that it scared him, it overwhelmed him. Quentin was warm and safe and careful and passionate, and Daken didn't want to ever leave him. God, how much didn't he want to. He moved his hand from Quentin's head to his shoulder as he deepened the kiss, and Quentin responded slowly, with a firm intensity that was unsettling, tongue moving languidly against Daken's. Daken pressed himself against Quentin; he wanted to feel every inch of his body against his own. He wanted to revere every inch of Quentin's skin. He wanted to caress him and hold him and kiss him for aeons. Oh, he wanted to stay like this forever –

But suddenly there was a hardness pressed against his hipbone. _Already?_ Daken couldn't stop the sound that came out of his mouth – and it sounded horribly, he realized as Quentin froze _,_ like _exasperation_ . But that wasn't what he felt, truly – he understood Quentin's needs , he truly _did_. They were _normal_. They _were_ to be expected.

Quentin broke the kiss and rolled away, a hand over his cock, and seemed about to stand up, embarrassment on his features. “I'll just –”

“Wait.”

Daken caught Quentin's wrist, pinning it to the mattress. Startled, the man looked at him sharply.

“Daken. You don't have to –”

“I want to,” Daken said forcefully. The man was obviously thinking of “taking care of himself” in the bathroom, like he'd done just a few days ago; Daken didn't know where had that absurd notion come from. “Don't you trust me to know that? You trust me to know when to stop you. I trust myself to know that, and I trust you with _stopping_. Why don't you trust me with this?”

He thought it might have to do with the state he'd been in these past few days, and it was, as always, achingly attentive of Quentin; oh, _how_ attentive he'd been: never attempting anything, just holding Daken close and reassuring him with his presence – comforting Daken with his blessed closeness without using him. Quentin was able to control himself; he wasn't an animal.

But there was no need to worry about any of that now. Daken was _fine_ now; he could take care of Quentin again.

Quentin bit his lower lip. “I do trust you. But it's okay if you don't want to, really –”

“Why do you think I don't? Why do you think I'd do it if I didn't want to?” He thought they'd left such worries behind them by now. He knew he could trust Quentin; why didn't Quentin trust himself – why would he doubt Daken? Daken knew himself. He knew what he could still do... he wasn't completely useless yet.

Quentin was looking at him with such a serious expression. “You didn't sound too happy at feeling I was hard. And Daken, that's _fine_ –”

“You just took me by surprise,” Daken rushed to reassure him. Of course it was fine – he _knew_ it was fine, he knew that Quentin didn't care if Daken couldn't function. But that didn't mean he would leave Quentin to deal with it on his own. “It's been a while, and we had sex last night. I thought you were spent, but... you're young. I'm just not used to that anymore –” Quentin opened his mouth to speak, but Daken shook his head. “Quentin, it's all right. I _want_ to touch you.”

He wanted so desperately to regain the contact with Quentin's skin that he'd just lost. He ached as if an important part of him had been cut away – his entire essence trembled with the need of touching Quentin.

“Just – only if you're sure, okay?” An endearing blush suffused Quentin's cheeks, his scent a mixture of arousal and worry.

“Of course.” He'd bring Quentin pleasure; not doing it while _demanding_ the comfort of Quentin's body was terribly inconsiderate of him. Maybe that was what troubled Quentin? Did he see the exchange as unfair? Did he worry Daken was forcing himself to do it? That was so far from the truth; he wanted to pleasure Quentin. He wanted to be close to Quentin, to lay with him, to kiss him; and if that stirred Quentin so much, it was only right and natural that Daken would take care of it. It was far from being a chore; he liked the sounds Quentin made, that look in his eyes, as if Daken were the most precious thing in the whole world – and he knew it wasn't just because of how _good_ Daken made him feel. He didn't want Daken only because of the sex, so when he _did_ want it, Daken was more than glad to oblige.

He moved slowly, draping himself over Quentin, and he resumed their kiss, just soft brushes of his lips as he caressed gently Quentin's shoulder. When he broke the kiss to lower himself just slightly, and press faint brushes to Quentin's throat, Quentin hummed, moving his hand away from his cock to catch Daken's shoulder; when Daken moved lower still, and brushed his lips against the lovely constellation of freckles on Quentin's chest and shoulders, Quentin emitted a faint gasp. He got a fistful of Daken's hair and tugged it very gently, so that Daken would look up at him; there was a question in his eyes, and wonder, and a fire that Daken ached to revive.

“Let me worship you,” he exhaled, and Quentin's breath hitched in his throat.

Daken made his way down with care, taking his time, revering every inch of Quentin's skin, lavishing him with kisses and slow caresses. He run his palms over Quentin's arms, chest, stomach; even his own hair caressed Quentin, its thick mass following his descent. Quentin's breathing was quiet, but it hitched every now and then, or he moaned softly – Daken took care of taking note of it, of any and every portion of Quentin's skin that was more sensitive to his lips. Quentin's fingers tightened in Daken's hair when he reached Quentin's cock; but that too he merely kissed, his intentions fairly different. Oh, he'd told Quentin he'd worship him, and that he'd do.

Still, he gave Quentin's length the attention it deserved, focusing his kisses there for a while, until Quentin gave an erratic thrust upwards. Catching Quentin's hips to keep him still, Daken went lower, lips brushing against Quentin's balls; and Quentin whimpered.

Oh, how Daken looked forward to the sounds Quentin would emit in a moment.

“Spread your legs, will you?” he murmured, lifting himself and moving away to give Quentin the chance to do just so – or not, if he so decided; looking up at Quentin, he saw only trust, and a violent eagerness; his cheeks flushed, Quentin hoisted himself up on his elbows and did as asked.

“What are you going to do?” his voice was rough with emotion and lust.

Daken run his palms over Quentin's thighs.

“What I told you I would do. I'll make you come with my tongue.”

He bent down to make true of his promise. Laying between Quentin's thighs – the bed was big enough that he could do this without kneeling on the floor – he teased for as long as he thought Quentin could take it, brushing soft kisses against the delicate flesh of Quentin's inner thighs, spreading Quentin's legs wider still, as wide as would be comfortable for him. When Quentin's whimpers became desperate and his writhing frantic, he turned his attention to Quentin's entrance.

There he managed to place just a single gentle kiss before Quentin protested again, fingers tightening between Daken's hair. “Wait, I'm not clean, I –” Well, it was true, but it didn't matter. Why should it? He was used to unpleasant smells, and this was Quentin, and it didn't bother him in the least.

“It's fine, Quentin. Let me.” Quentin's fingers relaxed, now resting lightly atop his head, and Daken resumed his ministrations; then, when Quentin's thighs began shaking, he pressed the tip of his tongue to Quentin's entrance and licked. The broken, startled moan that Quentin emitted was all he wanted, all he needed. He lapped and teased, and went to suck the skin of Quentin's exquisite buttocks, and then returned to revere him again; he was precise, and he was thorough, and it was beautiful to hear Quentin's moans and keen whimpers.

The sounds were stifled suddenly, and Daken looked up; Quentin had clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Let me hear you,” Daken begged. “I like to hear you. You sound amazing, Quentin.” He nuzzled Quentin's perineum. Quentin writhed, and shook his head. He was covered with beads of sweat; he was the most beautiful creature Daken had ever laid eyes on.

Trembling, Quentin lowered his hand from his mouth. “Can't,” he exhaled, voice shaking, “Can't – keep up shield. Hear us.”

“Oh?” He'd been so good that Quentin wasn't able to keep his mental shields up? Daken felt an old smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “Let them.”

Quentin shook his head again. “I'm not... in the habit of... oh, _fffuck_ –” he arched as Daken licked him again.

“So do you usually do it?” Daken then mused innocently, a palm running up Quentin's thigh. “Shields up, you won't let your colleagues hear the fun or masturbate to us?”

“What -? No!” Quentin was startled into a laughter, eyes wide. “ _No_. That's – I don't even want to think about that.”

“Mh-mh.” Daken trailed his tongue along Quentin's perineum. Quentin whimpered. “So you're telling me that I could have screamed tonight and they wouldn't have heard me? I'll keep that in mind.”

“Wait, scream –?”

“Cover your mouth, Quentin,” Daken smiled, his smile a promise, and Quentin hastened to obey. Daken returned to his activity, kept at it until Quentin would believe that was _all_ he would do – and then he pushed his tongue inside Quentin.

Quentin's loud moan, even if he was _covering his mouth_ , must have certainly been heard.

But that didn't matter now. It was fun to imagine a sleep-deprived Iceman banging at Quentin's door – or deciding to make good use of the sound effects to take care of himself – but Daken had something else to focus on now. Quentin was the center of everything, a pulsating star, and Daken was pleasuring him. He kept it slow, and gentle, and shallow; _amateurs_ tried to shove their tongues all the way in, but that wasn't how it was done. That had no finesse in it. No, this needed skills.

Skills he'd mastered, bit by bloody bit.

Daken shook the unpleasant thoughts off his head, and focused on Quentin's ring of muscle, on the tightening of his buttocks, the trembling of his thighs, the undulation of his hips, his heartbeat that went faster and faster, his muffled moans –

It was divine.

Quentin caught his hair, and yanked – at first Daken took it for passion, but he was pulling in the wrong direction... urging Daken to move away, not pushing him _against_ himself. Perplexed, Daken stopped and raised his head. Quentin was flushed, the redness covering his chest too; his cock was leaking precome. He removed his hand from his mouth, and had to make a few tries before he could speak.

“Wait,” he said eventually, voice wavering. “I... I...”

“Tell me,” urged Daken.

Quentin _stuttered_ , the lovely creature. “I want – I want t-t-to be k-k-kissing you when I c-c-come.”

Daken's chest ached, and he lifted himself, all his plans forgotten. Oh, Quentin looked so endearing, so desperate. “Yes?” He brushed his lips against Quentin's forehead. Quentin sighed. “And you will, dearest.”

The endearment came unbidden out his mouth, and it tasted so right, so new, as if he'd never used it before... oh, not like this. Never like this. Quentin's heart skipped a beat at hearing it; he was looking at Daken with unfocused eyes, a precious hesitant smile on his lips, and Daken's chest tightened even more. Oh, how it ached, it was unbearable. He felt as if he were floating, as if nothing mattered but this – Quentin's smile, Quentin's beautiful eyes fixed on him like there was nothing else in the whole world. Quentin's scent, breath, heartbeat, voice, skin, _oh_ –

Quentin cupped his cheek, oh so lightly. Shaking himself, Daken pressed a kiss to his palm, then eyed the bottle of lube still on the nightstand from that night and went to retrieve it. “With my fingers, then?” he asked softly, settling beside Quentin. Quentin's feverish gaze lowered between Daken's legs, maybe hoping for more – but it wasn't possible, not today. “I'm sorry, dearest.” Daken pressed a kiss to Quentin's temple, brushed Quentin's damp hair away from his forehead. “Will it be okay? Do you prefer me to jerk you off?”

“ _No,_ ” Quentin said quite vehemently, then bit his lower lip. “S'right. Fingers. I – _Sorry_.”

“No need to apologize.” Daken coated generously his fingers with lube and then lay beside Quentin. He hesitated; not everyone was comfortable with being kissed after being pleasured like Quentin had just been. And Quentin had expressed reservations about the smell already – “Are you sure you don't mind kissing me, Quentin?”

With a choked, desperate sound, Quentin grabbed Daken by the back of his neck and crashed his mouth on him.

It appeared he didn't mind. Reaching down as Quentin kissed him furiously, Daken carefully pushed a finger inside him. Quentin groaned, and already he was fucking himself on it, a hand going down to stroke himself as the other yanked at Daken's hair. Daken wasted no time; Quentin was close.

By the time he'd worked three fingers in, Quentin had long stopped touching himself in favor of gripping madly at Daken's arm while frantically pushing back. He was a writhing, mewling mess; Daken had wanted to lull him into an orgasm by gently teasing his prostate – but that seemed like torture now, and Daken angled his thrusts to speed the process.

Afterwards, Quentin melted in a boneless heap against him, still pressing gentle kisses to Daken's lips – kisses that lacked the heat from earlier, but that touched Daken much more deeply. How strange. He held Quentin, the quietness restored once more, a feeling of contentedness descending upon him. He felt like still water, a lake whose edges skimmed Quentin.

He pulled Quentin closer and tightly wrapped his arms around him, pressing him as much to himself as he could. God, the closeness was intoxicating, was all he could desire. Quentin held him back, his touch warm and gentle on Daken's shoulders, and what would Daken do to stay like this forever... to hold him and be held, close and quiet, Quentin's scent filling his nostrils, Quentin's heartbeat in his ears. It was so easy, so good, away from conflict, from pain, huddled away in Quentin's room, Quentin's arms –

Quentin tilted his head back, resting it on the pillow and looking at Daken with clear eyes. “I don't think you act like it all revolves around you,” he murmured gently.

Daken froze.

“Don't,” he begged. He didn't want to hear any of that. He _knew_ what damage he'd carved into Eike with his self-absorbed reactions. He'd _seen_ it. God, he should have seen it sooner. Maiko had warned him; he'd _tried_ to control himself, damn him. He'd failed utterly.

Quentin began caressing his hair, petting him as if that could soothe him. Oh, it could: God, Quentin could. But he had to stay silent. He had _not_ to broach this subject. Daken silently begged him not to. He didn't want to think about any of that.

Quentin's gaze was so soft. “I won't talk about it if you don't want me to, Daken.”

“Then don't.” Daken moved closer to brush his lips against Quentin's. Quentin kissed him back gently, but then tilted his head back again.

“I won't,” Quentin murmured, “But one thing I must tell you. If you'll let me.”

Daken considered the man. He looked so driven, so serious; so painfully kind. He wasn't going to let this slide, was he? He was going to say something uplifting and untrue. Daken didn't want to be told lies. Even if it was Quentin that uttered them. He could bear to hear Quentin say that everything would be all right, because it was true when he was in his arms; for a small amount of time, it was true.

But this was different. This was Daken having failed in what he _shouldn't_ have failed, in what he'd promised himself he would _never_ fail. This was Daken ruining _everything,_ ruining _Eike_. Ruining things was all he did, all he'd ever done in his life –

 _No_. That wasn't true. He was wallowing in self-hatred like a fool, when he knew he'd done some good, he knew he had good things. He hadn't ruined everything – just some things. The important things.

Eike had needed him, and he hadn't been there for nem, hadn't been able to shoulder nir pain –

Quentin brought his hands to Daken's scalp as he kept caressing him slowly, fingers moving gently through Daken's hair. How quickly he could read Daken, how kindly he was acting. Daken's chest was aching, but Quentin could soothe that pain. He could trust Quentin with it.

Daken sighed. Maybe he needed a merciful lie. Just for a moment. “I'm listening.”

Quentin spoke softly.

“I think you're a good father.” Daken stirred, but let him speak. _Merciful lies._ He shut his eyes and focused on Quentin's fingers, Quentin's voice. “I think you had to handle, all alone, something terrible, something that would have made _any_ parent crumble under such a weight.” He hadn't been alone. He'd had his blessed sister and his amazing daughter. Had he been alone, he'd have crumbled long ago. “But you managed.” He shouldn't have merely _managed_ , manage _wasn't_ enough. “You brought Eike up despite all that pain, and ne's grown well.” Had ne? Had ne, really, with all ne'd said? “You showed your _own_ pain to your child, and so what?” Daken bit the inside of his cheek. “You're human. It's human. I get that you feel that you shouldn't have, that ne shouldn't have had to see, but you _didn't_ do it to take center stage. Of that I'm sure. I get that you feel you _wronged_ nem, but I don't think you did.”

“ _Eike_ thinks that,” came out of Daken's mouth. There was a lump in his throat. “And ne's right. I –”

“Of course nir feelings on the matter are perfectly valid.” Quentin kept gently caressing his hair. “Of course ne's pained by seeing you like that. That is human, too. But you're still doing good, Daken. You're giving nem space. And that's what's important. But you _both_ need this space. You need to stop beating yourself over this. See the merit in nir words, but understand that suffering about what happened to nem and showing your own pain _isn't_ you acting like it all revolves around you.”

Daken opened his eyes. There was, he realized, a veil clouding them, and he blinked it away; Quentin was looking at him with infinite patience, with a softness that tugged at Daken's heart. He _wanted_ to believe Quentin's words. He wanted to believe at least a small portion of them so much.

But he knew he'd ruined everything. “I think,” he forced the words out of himself, and his voice wavered. He cleared his throat. “I feel like I've done everything wrong. I should have controlled myself better –”

“And keep it all bottled, to explode eventually?” Quentin's voice was so quiet, his fingers between Daken's hair a blessing. “That would have been worse. Daken, it's _normal_ that you suffered too. It's normal that your child's pain hurt you.”

“I thought I had it all under control,” Daken hid his face in the crook of Quentin's neck. He murmured, lips moving barely against Quentin's skin: “I really thought that. I _hid_ . I shut myself in my room, so that Eike wouldn't see me. Ne would wake up from nightmares and I couldn't sleep after, I – seeing nem like that, it hurt so _much_ –”

“Of course.” Quentin brushed his lips over Daken's hair. He should stop talking – this wasn't about him, Eike's pain _wasn't_ about him – but now he couldn't stop.

“I – I began having these breakdowns, I -” he was so ashamed of that. So ashamed. “When I realized that I was prone to such emotional outbursts, I sound-proofed my bathroom. I would shut myself there and I was sure, I was _sure_ Eike didn't hear me! I –” he let out a sob. “What if ne did? Oh, God, what if ne _did_ hear me?” He yanked away from Quentin's embrace, the thought too horrifying. What if ne _had_? What if, on top of dealing with nir nightmares, ne'd had to listen to Daken bawling his eyes out like a self-absorbed bastard?

He sat up and wrapped his arms around himself, avoiding Quentin's gaze. What had Eike said? That Daken went around with “that face and that guilt”. That ne couldn't bear to look at his face – God. That he made things _worse_ . And he had. He _had_ . And he _knew_ that feeling, because he'd felt it for so long, he'd felt it when interacting with Logan –

Was he to Eike what Logan had been for so long to him? A self-absorbed father, a man who made it all about himself, who'd made his child's suffering about himself for so long that he couldn't see the damage?

But no, it wasn't black and white. He knew that now; he'd known it for some time now. He knew that Logan had tried his damn best, that it was _him_ that hadn't let Logan get close enough to _see_ –

“Hey,” Quentin murmured. He'd sat up as well, and was beside him, and embraced Daken. Daken realized in that moment that he was shaking, and he grasped madly at Quentin's arm. God, what had he done to his child? What had he _done_?

He let his head fall against Quentin's chest. He couldn't stop shaking; Quentin held him through it, always with that damn, terrible, blessed, merciful lie on his lips.

“It's going to be all right. Shh, shh – it's all right. It's going to be all right.”

 

* * *

 

 

Maiko's goodnight call found him restlessly walking the lawn.

He'd found that the school premises had an almost calming effect on him; not enough to soothe the hysteria, but enough to make some semblance of order in his thoughts. More than once, these past few days, he'd gone for a hectic walk in the areas that were less crowded by the students; two times, his feet had brought him to the school's cemetery.

The second time had just passed. He'd stood in front of Logan's tombstone for a while, his mind a whirlwind of flashes: the latest conversation with Quentin, his words calm and reassuring; the way Eike's face had contorted when he'd screamed that he didn't want Daken to stay in Madripoor; the uncomfortable hug he'd exchanged with Logan, when Daken had brought him to visit Akihira's tomb.

Romulus sneering at him, bent down on him, face red with Daken's blood; Creed gutting him in this very school, the last time he'd seen the bastard in the flesh – _he should have killed him that day_ ; Eike's childish face contorting into a horrifying smile, eight years ago, as he told Daken that he'd _killed_ Creed.

He'd placed a hand on the tombstone and hung his head and shut his eyes. He wanted to tell Logan that he _got_ it now, he _did_ ; but he couldn't anymore. He would never be able to tell him. Oh, they'd parted on good terms, they'd told each other everything they'd needed to say – or almost everything. They'd mended something, in those few years... just not _everything_ , their wounds too deep – the wounds they'd inflicted each other. They were there, they had always been there; and they'd been swept under the rug, in favor of some sort of normalcy between them... a tacit agreement in order to be able to talk.

Things had never really been black and white, when it came to the two of them. Daken grimaced. He still bled, but now he felt he understood. And he could only say it to a dead man.

He'd patted the stone and left, too overwhelmed to even whisper those few words, and resumed his walk. He'd carefully avoided any X-Man today, especially Lee; he'd felt he would tear at her. The woman was trying to balance everything, he knew that; he wasn't that stupid not to realize that they were walking a thin line. But there was a convergence, it felt clear to him, so clear he could see it; and he couldn't sit idly and do nothing. Not while Creed was out there. He had to do something before the monster reached Madripoor as Eike feared... as Eike appeared to almost _want_ , blood-lust visible in nir eyes when ne'd said ne would kill Creed again.

Creed had been resurrected by the Hand; had it been an accident, or had they deliberately summoned his soul from the depths of hell? The man had even worked with them for some time, it wasn't that far-fetched to think that they'd do it on purpose – but why wait that many years?

And the clones? Did they come into this? Dammit, they didn't even know if clones truly existed yet. There was no tangible proof, just a single corpse in Broo's lab. But Garner had implied as much... and it seemed impossible for a connection to be there, but then again, the Hand's lackey had killed himself in the same way as her...

Or not. As Lee had said, it could just be a coincidence. A new customization for telepathy-blocking chips, something for crime-lords to impose on their lackeys.

Then why had he never heard of such a thing? He'd led Japan's crime scene for almost twenty years and he'd _never_ heard of it. Granted, he'd never have forced his people to wear such devices – in this, he was old-fashioned. If someone had betrayed him, he'd have dealt with the person in question _personally_ . And he _had_ done so, more than once, of course. How could he command respect if he let someone else – or some device – punish a betrayer? His hold on Japan had always been imbued in that, from the very first days... something he wouldn't have ever expected, nor had searched for at the beginning.

But his thoughts were derailing. What was the link? _Was_ there a link? It seemed absurd: the Hand, and some American grand conspiracy. The next logical leap was for the mysterious people that had paid the Hand to attack the White House to _be_ those that were behind Garner. But that was too absurd, even as he thought it.

God, was he so overcome by grief and terror that he was seeing a web when there was none? Was Lee right? Was he in hysterics because he couldn't do anything – because he'd been shut out by Eike and needed to do something – _anything_ – and instead he was just strolling by the damn lane?

Quentin didn't think he was rambling; he'd listened to him, that very morning, after the crisis had passed. He hadn't looked nor smelt like he thought Daken was coming apart at seams. He'd brushed Daken's hair and tied it up in his usual high ponytail as he listened quietly to Daken's ramblings.

At least he had Quentin.

His thoughts were interrupted by Maiko's call.

They'd hadn't talked last night – he hadn't had the force of will to call her – but it turned out that she'd been brought up to date by her agents... and by Laura, too, it appeared.

This became obvious when she asked him, quietly, how was he – Laura must have relayed just about everything.

He shrugged her questions off... he was fine; _yes_ , he'd slept – thanks to Quentin, but _that_ there was no need to tell her –

Walking out of the line of trees rounding the cemetery and into the sun-bathed lawn, he asked her how had _their_ day been. He went to coast the borders and listened as she talked about Madripoor. Upon their return, the agents had explained what had transpired – Maiko was worried, as was he. Hearing her say that the points he'd made the day before _did_ make sense was a relief; then again, she was trapped as much as he... forced to stay put in Madripoor, to trust its shield and do nothing else to actively protect Eike. Still, what could they do? They could only wait for Broo's results on the autopsy on the Hand's lackey... and then go from there, one step at a time.

When every other topic had been discussed, Daken forced himself to ask the question that hurt him most whenever he'd asked it, these past few days.

“How's Eike?” He stopped walking and focused his gaze outside of the school premises as he waited for Maiko to gather her thoughts. Her silence was an answer in and of itself.

“She's – fine.” Maiko inhaled. “She's training, huh, with Charles. She's teaching him some tricks.”

She was really spending too much time with her half-brother – but that was none of his business. He was a long-lost relative, and Daken guessed it was normal for Eike to attach herself to him.

It was good that she had some way to physically relieve the stress, too; God knew how much of it she had to be experiencing right now.

“Otousan -” Maiko exhaled. “I think, I... I think that _not talking_ isn't the right way to do this.”

Daken grimaced. “Does she _want_ to talk with me?”

“She –” Maiko inhaled deeply, the way she did when she was about to deliver a closing statement – or when she was trying very hard to keep her voice level when talking to someone clearly in the wrong in an argument, without making said person feel like an idiot.

Too bad he could hear the changes in her voice. But she had every right to tear at him.

“ _She_ is not the adult here, otousan. She's shocked and terrified and _you_ ought to comfort her. She's not thinking straight, she _hasn't_ been for a while, and she's scared out of her mind! You shouldn't take what she told you at face value, she was –”

“I take it for what it was, Maiko: the truth. I know she was right. She _needs_ me to stay away from her and I _will_ , if that's what she wants –”

“You can't help her from there, otousan! She needs someone – someone who –” Maiko's voice shook as if she were on the verge of tears. Daken waited for her to calm down. “She needs someone who can _relate_ , otousan. And _you_ can –”

“I will _not_ turn her pain into my self-pity party, Maiko,” he spat. “She doesn't need to know –”

“She does!” Maiko interrupted him, “It's not a self-pity party, it's how she can know that she's not alone, that she can talk to you, that you really do _understand_ what she's going through! How can you not see it? She needs this, she needs to hear you talk about what happened to you, she needs to know that you _get_ her –”

“And I should reassure her of that by doing _what_?” he hissed, walking closer to the gate when he noticed some kids staring at him. “By telling her my life story? By focusing all attention on me? What's gotten into you, Maiko?”

“It wouldn't be focusing attention on you -”

“But _that's_ what she said, isn't it? That I make it all about myself. God, you heard her.”

“Yes, I did, otousan,” Maiko said softly, “And she wasn't in her right mind –”

“She was. She was and you know it.” Daken reached the gate. “I can't pretend that what she said isn't true. You saw it yourself and you _told_ me yourself. Don't you remember that?” He recalled her anger that night of years ago; her features softening, eyes bright with unshed tears, as he mumbled excuses like a fool... as if she hadn't lived through terrible things herself and couldn't understand, when in fact she _had_ , and she still managed to be there for Eike.

“Yes. Of course,” she sighed.

“Right now, she's angry. She has every right to be. She feels I made it worse for her to handle and I think she's right. I was suffocating to her.”

“I _don't_ think you made it worse –”

“Maiko, _please_. I don't need you to hold my hand.” That had come out harsher than he'd meant to; Daken shook his head. “I'm not your child, I'm your father. I've got it covered. I can and I will take responsibility for my shortcomings as a father, dear.”

“You did all you could,” she whispered, so similar to what Quentin had said. So wrong.

“ _All I could_ isn't enough, Maiko. It's an excuse.”

“You know, _this_ is being focused on yourself,” Maiko said, voice strangled. He could tell she was trying to rile him up, but it wasn't going to work. “ _This_ is self-pity. Eike doesn't need this, she doesn't need you to wallow in self-hatred, she needs –”

“She _needs_ me to respect her desires,” he interrupted her, “It's the only thing I can do for her right now. Give her _space_ . Let her come to terms with her feelings in _peace_ . She needs _time_. I won't force myself on her.”

“Chikushou!” she snapped as she used to do as a child. It was way out of character for her, and it made him furrow his brows. As he opened his mouth to ask her whether _she_ was fine – he hadn't worried about that, focused on Eike, but this terrible situation must be taking a heavy toll on her, too – his attention was captured by a shimmer in the air, just outside of the school grounds. Two women had just teleported.

Maiko was talking. “- please listen to me, Eike doesn't need _time_ , she needs to _talk_ to you. She won't tell you, but – _God_ , otousan –”

“Maiko, I will _not_ force myself on her,” he repeated as he watched the two women collect themselves and then walk quickly towards the gates. One was mature, blonde – was she... fucking hell, was it _Donna_? Daken cursed.

“ _Otousan?_ ” Maiko's voice was alarmed.

“It's nothing.” He followed the two women's approach; the red-headed woman beside Donna was younger than her, certainly no more than thirty. “Maiko, we'll talk again, but I need to hang up now.”

“Wait, _no_ –”

“I think it's important.” The infuriating woman had seen him, and waved her prosthetic at him, an alert urgency in her expression. Daken moved to the gates' manual commands.

“More important than _Eike_?” Maiko snarled.

“Nothing is,” he snapped, taken aback by the fury in Maiko's question. Then he winced. Maiko had no fault. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take it on you. I know you're doing so much –”

“Otousan –”

“You're holding everything together. My lion-hearted girl.” The two women reached him. He held up a hand to shush Donna; God, she looked in a hurry. But he couldn't just let her in without informing the X-Men. “I love you, sweetheart. I trust you to hold this together, I do. We'll talk soon again. Give my love to Eike. If she'll want it. Good night.”

“Otousan, _wait_ –”

He hung up and buried the guilt at shutting her up like that, at not even asking her how _was_ she and putting all that weight on her shoulders. This wasn't right, he knew it... she'd always been so competent and quick and smart, but she was his child as well. She was older than Eike, she was an adult, but it wasn't her duty to keep their family together... it was _Daken's_. What a poor excuse for a father. He'd resolve it; he'd call her as soon as this was settled, hoping not to wake her up; or maybe directly in the evening... he should let her get a good night's sleep.

He turned his attention to the women. “Donna,” he cocked his head, “What brings you here?” She looked only mildly disheveled; her companion was more agitated, her heartbeat wild.

“I'll talk inside,” Donna shook her head. Her free hand rested on the gun at her side. “I don't think we're safe here.”

“Dammit, Donna.” He sent a text to Laura, urging her to notify Lee immediately. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” He threw a brief glance at the young woman beside her – she looked familiar.

“I _dug_.” Donna's grimace was sardonic.

“You –” Daken groaned. “I _told_ you not to. Have you a death wish?”

“You know me enough to know that I _wouldn't_ have followed your advice.” Donna cocked an eyebrow. “Are you going to let us in?”

“It's not my school, nor my decision. There are _children_ here.” He grimaced. “And you went and _dug_ into a shithole, didn't you?” He didn't miss the accelerating heartbeat of Donna's companion. Who was she? He tried to place her familiar features. “Do you think you were followed?”

“No, but one can never be sure.” Donna's eyes shifted, checking their surroundings.

“The perimeter is checked upon, Donna. No one can possibly know you're here unless you told them.”

She nodded, but moved all the same to have a good look at the area as they waited. The young woman beside her grasped at the gate; she was looking at him, head cocked to the side, brows furrowed –

And in that moment he finally recognized her, shock surging through his veins – she'd dyed her hair; that was why he hadn't recognized her immediately. What had that infuriating woman _done?_ Struggling for composure, he threw a glance at Donna to ascertain she hadn't noticed his reaction just as he smelt Lee and Laura come out of the school. He heard Lee bark an order to all the kids on the lawn to retreat into the building, and then she and Laura were beside Daken, face to face with the two women.

“Who are you?” Lee's voice was crisp. Daken battled the instinct to slam her against the gate, reminded himself that it _wasn't_ Lee's fault that the situation was dire.

Donna approached the gate again. “Donna Kiel. FBI.”

“You need a warrant, Agent Kiel.”

“Let them in,” Daken interjected, “She's not involved.”

“Isn't she?” Lee turned to look at him, cocking her eyebrow. “And you know that _how_?”

“She was there after Garner's death,” he said. No intake of breath from the two women on the other side of the gate, no change in heartbeat; Donna hadn't withheld that information. “I mentioned her, remember?”

“Yes. You know her. I got that.” Lee cocked her head to the side. “Can you _vouch_ for her?”

Honestly? He didn't know. He didn't know her that well. She'd been incorruptible and righteous, but that had been almost twenty years ago. People changed; hell, he'd changed.

But on the day of Garner's suicide, she had appeared to be as much in the dark as him.

“I can vouch for her integrity.” Daken crossed his arms. “And, more importantly, that's Jessica Williams with her.”

The young woman's heart skipped a beat – the sound was almost drowned by Lee's and Donna's startled gasps. Laura, of course, was more composed.

“You _know_ me?” asked Williams, voice shaking.

“I _didn't_ tell you who was she –” began Donna, but Lee interrupted her.

“I'm letting you in. If this is a trap, agent Kiel –” she bared her vampire teeth. There was no need to end the sentence. Donna nodded; she was pale, but that was the only outward sign of agitation.

The gates were opened, and the two women were ushered onto the lawn. Lee waved them towards the school. “I'm guessing you have information of some kind. We'll talk inside.”

They walked in formation without thinking; he positioned himself beside Donna, Laura beside Williams, and Lee fell in line behind them. He doubted they were about to try something hostile, but it was better to keep a tight front for now.

Where had they just come from? The last update he had on Williams was that she lived under false name in California, where she was pursuing a degree in Mutant History. She was part of the local mutant rights movement; it was clear that her father's actions had upset her greatly.

Donna must have found her after some digging, and then – what? What had they done?

Williams was throwing surreptitious glances in his direction. Eventually, she stopped pretending she wasn't curious. “You _know_ me,” she exhaled, “Do I know you?”

Daken sighed.

“Your voice, I _know_ it –”

“Yes,” he said, to shut her up.

“Who are you?”

“We'll talk _inside_ ,” snapped Lee.

“I'm not moving until you tell me who are you!” Williams stopped right in her tracks. Her voice wavered: she probably had an idea, an inkling of suspect, a paranoid thought.

“ _Walk_ , girl,” he urged her. She hugged herself.

“It's you, isn't it?” He looked at her; she looked so young. How old was she – twenty-six?

“Yes.” When she shut her eyes, he added: “Walk.”

Taking a shaky breath, she complied. She opened her eyes and looked straight ahead and walked, back straight, one step after the other. Donna looked between the two of them.

“Do you _know_ her, Daken?”

“We'll talk inside,” said Laura, but he held up a hand. He felt compelled to answer.

“Yes.”

“How?” Donna's voice was low, a dangerous growl.

“I told you that my child was in her father's facility.”

Williams' steps faltered, but she kept walking; they were almost at the entrance now.

Donna furrowed her brows. “Yes.”

“I kidnapped her to get my child back,” he said simply as they got inside the building.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Donna reeled to a halt and pointed her gun at him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Revenge. For Garner, it was all about avenging the death of her husband. It was probable she hated mutants too, but _that_ was her motive.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some disturbing discoveries are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** for child abuse and mentions of torture.

21.

“Would you leave me,  
If I told you what I've done?  
And would you need me,  
If I told you what I've become?  
'Cause it's so easy, to say it to a crowd –  
But it's so hard, my love, to say it to you out loud.”

Florence + the Machine – _No light, no light_

 

 

Laura unsheathed her claws and Lee snarled, both of them ready to bounce on Donna.

Heedless of the threat, Donna positioned herself between Williams and Daken, gun still pointed at him.

“You did _what_?”

“You heard me.” He met her gaze unblinking; he wasn't in the wrong. His conscience was clear.

“You kidnapped a teenager –”

“My child was _ten_ ,” he snapped. “The tales you heard about that place, Donna? It was a million times worse.”

She grimaced, her hold on the gun weakening just slightly. “Did you hurt her?”

“I'll let her determine that.” He hadn't hurt her, not on purpose. The kidnapping had been smooth – he'd made sure of that – and he hadn't laid a finger on her. He wasn't an _animal_.

The young woman placed a hand on Donna's shoulder. “Please, it's all right...”

“Did he hurt you?” Donna asked calmly.

“No. He was very –” Williams winced, avoiding his gaze. “- courteous. He didn't harm me.”

“... _courteous_.” Donna lowered her gun and Laura grabbed it immediately; Donna let her. Looking over her shoulder at Williams, Donna said quietly: “I'm sorry, Jessica. I wouldn't have brought you here if I'd known –”

“Where else should I be?” Williams took a step further into the building, as if nothing had happened. She wasn't acting, she wasn't unfazed; she was uncomfortable at being this close to him, it was clear to see in her body-language... she moved very rigidly. He'd kidnapped her, held her prisoner, threatened her father – and killed him. She had every right to be scared.

Yet, she turned and looked at him. “Daken. That's your name. I remember.”

Yes, Logan had called him by name – he should have kept the girl from hearing, but he'd been too relieved by the news Eike was safe to think about that. “Yes.”

“I saw you on TV, but I didn't realize it was _you_.” She cocked her head to the side, hair brushing her shoulders. “Out in the open. She used to say you would have stayed hidden forever like the coward animal you were.” She looked at him, jaw clenched, and waited for a reaction.

He wasn't going to indulge her. He'd been furious at Garner for her words, but this woman in front of him was just a kid whose father he'd killed – whose mother had just killed herself.

Was she trying to rile him up? To gauge him?

She looked to the side. “She never seemed to grasp – or to care about – what dad had done,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry.”

That startled him – and not only him. Lee inhaled sharply, and Donna let out a sound of incredulity.

He held up a hand. “There's no need to apologize –”

“I'm sorry about your _kid_ ,” she amended, looking up again, but not at him: her gaze fell on Lee. “We're here because we think we may have some information about what mum was up to. And I think it could have to do with mutants, and that you should know, and agent Kiel didn't trust her superiors.”

That brought them all into action again, and soon they were in the conference room. As they let the two women settle in their chairs, they were joined by Quentin, Kaplan, Rogue and Colossus.

Lee didn't waste time, leaning against a desk with her arms crossed. “You said you _think_ you have information, that you _think_ _may_ have relevance for us. Don't you _know_?”

Williams shrugged and threw a sideways glance at Donna. “We don't, no.”

Donna elaborated before Lee could make true of her threat. “We've just come out of her mother's house. I wasn't convinced with the way her case was closed. Too quick.”

“She killed herself,” Quentin said firmly.

Donna looked at him while raising a hand to placate Williams. “Yes. But there was the matter of the tip-off, which was never mentioned again. You _didn't_ tell me what she'd given you, but there was no talk of investigating that. As if it didn't matter. The case was closed. It stank of cover-up. So I tracked down Jessica. It took a while: there was the attack in DC,” she winced, “And she doesn't go by her birth name.”

Beside her, Williams was nodding along to her tale. “No one had bothered to tell me about mother. We'd stopped talking when she left the clinic, but I would have wanted to know! The _government_ gave me my alias. They knew where to find me. They didn't _tell_ me mother had died,” she spat.

“This was suspicious,” continued Donna. “I convinced Jessica to help me. We went to her parents' old house; her mother went back there when she was discharged from the clinic. And that's where I knew something was definitely up: it was crawling with bugs. Not the _insects_.” She raised her prosthetic as she cocked an eyebrow. “This beauty has many built-in enhancements.”

“It was bugged.” Lee nodded. “So they expected someone to investigate. Whoever is monitoring that house _knows_ that you were there.”

“But they failed to bug the basement,” Williams smiled a feral smile. “Very stupid of them.”

“The basement?” asked Rogue.

“Oh, yes.” Williams showed her teeth. “We played along and searched the whole house, but I _knew_ that if something was to be found, it would be in the basement, in her old hiding spot.”

Daken seemed to remember something about the basement, now that he thought about it; hadn't the General Williams asked something about it, to ascertain that the young woman in Daken's hands was truly his daughter and not some shapeshifter?

“We did find something,” said Donna. “If I may?” She motioned to her prosthetic, and when Lee nodded warily, she flicked her wrist; something came out of a little compartment in her palm.

A _flash drive._ He hadn't seen one of those things in years.

Donna held it in her palm. “Obviously, whoever bugged the house couldn't find it because it's such old technology. We don't know what it contains; but if her mother hid it, it could be something important.”

“You came straight here?” Lee pushed herself away from the desk. “Why? Why not bring it to your team?”

Donna grimaced. “I don't know what my superiors would do of it. For all I know, it could disappear. And we had to think quickly; we didn't know if whoever bugged the house was going to come and _get_ us.”

“You don't even know what it contains. It might be something trivial.” Colossus had crossed his arms. “Why us?”

Donna looked at Williams; the young woman spoke quietly.

“Mother was never the same after dad died.” She wasn't looking at Daken; but Kaplan was, his lips a thin line; and Lee, too, threw Daken a quick glance. “She kept saying terrible things about mutants in general. I tried to explain to her that what dad did was _wrong_ , but my words wouldn't affect her. We – fought, most of the time. At a certain point I couldn't even look at her anymore, she was just so _vicious_ –” she shut her eyes as her voice wavered. None of them tried to force her to continue, waiting for her to regain her voice. She was terribly upset. He'd known she had been – for some time, he'd thought it might be a ruse: a way for her to infiltrate mutant movements and exact revenge. But it had soon become clear that it wasn't the case.

She was truthful in her shock and even in her pain. She _suffered_ for the mutants that had suffered; not only Eike – ne wasn't the only one that had been in that facility, after all, despite being the youngest. And all the protests she'd taken part to –

She sighed. “I just thought – I thought that if she was involved in something secret, something that was covered, and that had gained your attention already... then whatever is in that flash drive might be important to you. It might be nothing, something else entirely, but I couldn't take any chances. I – I needed to do something. To help you.” She opened her eyes. “When I saw what happened in DC, I –” she looked around at the X-Men, at their grim expressions. “It was horrifying. It was horrible and vicious and I'm so sorry for your losses, and I thought that I needed to help you. Help the X-Men.” She hung her head.

Rogue was the first to move, and she crouched in front of the young woman and caught her hands. “Thank you. It was very brave of you. Standing up to your family. Doing the right thing.”

Williams shook her head. “If I'd stayed with her, maybe she wouldn't have gotten involved in – whatever she was.”

“You can't take responsibility for that,” Rogue said as Lee moved to take the flash drive from Donna. “It was her choice. And you did the right thing now. Thanks for bringing it to us.”

“I just hope it helps.” Williams lifted her head, lips trembling.

“We'll see.” Lee set the flash drive on the desk. “If it's relevant, we'll protect you, of course. You can stay here until we ascertain that.”

“You think we might need protection.” Donna's lips were a thin line. “What's happening exactly, Wolverine?”

Lee considered the woman for a long time, trying to gauge her, likely calculating pros and cons of telling her what they knew. Eventually she shrugged. “We don't know yet. It's linked with Williams' old facility. This, you might have understood on your own.”

Donna nodded as Williams' daughter paled and gripped her thighs. “Experiments on mutants?”

“We don't know. Probably.” At Lee's words, Williams paled even further.

“Aren't you going to check what's in that flash drive?” asked Donna.

“In a moment, yes.” Lee cocked her head to the side, her braid sliding to her back. “You should leave. Rogue will show you to your lodgings.”

“No.” It wasn't Donna to speak, but Williams. Her voice was firm. “I need to see. To know.”

“We appreciate your help, but this is not your battle. The less you know, the –”

“Not my battle?” Williams snarled. “My father started it all. My mother probably had something to do with it. But even if they'd had nothing to do with any of this, this is _everyone's_ battle. Not just mutants'. You don't stand alone. There's a lot of people out there who battle for mutants' rights and you know it! You've always worked with humans. You _know_ we're not all like that.”

“We know that, yes. But you did all that you possibly could. There's no need for you to know –”

“What haven't you told us?” insisted Williams. “You have an idea of what might be in there, what she might have been entangled with. You suspect something. You – agent Kiel said mother gave you something. What was it?”

“Nothing. She _gave_ us nothing.” Lee spoke firmly. “That's what they told _Kiel_.”

“Oh, come on,” snarled Donna. “Based on _his_ reaction when I talked about government property theft,” she pointed at Daken, “there was definitely an exchange that day. Even if she didn't give you anything, she sure as hell _told_ you something. And the government might be involved. If you suspect something illegal is at place in the government, you have the obligation to tell the authorities.”

“The authorities,” Colossus said softly, “who would cover everything, agent Kiel. As you so kindly reminded us, they covered the circumstances surrounding Garner's death.”

“Well, _I'm_ here and I wouldn't cover _anything_.” Donna sat straighter on her chair. “I won't let my country rot because of corruption. Allow me to be of use.”

Once again there was silence, only disrupted by Hisako coming inside the room with an old computer. The woman appeared to have healed from the wounds suffered in DC, but was still limping slightly.

She set the computer on the desk and busied herself with some cables as Lee tapped her fingers on the table, gaze fixed on Donna and Williams.

Bringing them into it would be criminal. This – whatever it was – was big, _too_ big for two humans. Williams may be right - she may have a right to know what her father's work had led to - but she was so young; and they were dealing with something that could be dangerous. Williams couldn't possibly be of use, and so letting her know would serve no other purpose but to put her in danger.

Donna could be of use – she was an as-of-yet not-corrupt, incorruptible FBI agent who could have access to useful information. But her, too, Daken didn't want to see die.

No, this was mutants' business.

Lee appeared to reach a decision, but her grimace told Daken she didn't share his conclusion. “Very well. We might need your help after all, agent Kiel.” She then looked at Williams. “But you -”

“I want to know,” enunciated the young woman, and Lee capitulated. Perhaps she hadn't been that convinced to begin with; perhaps Williams' plight had touched her.

Daken couldn't let the kid put herself in danger. “Don't I have a say in the matter?” he crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow when Lee looked at him. They all looked at him, in truth.

Ah, perhaps they feared he would throw a tantrum like the previous day. As for their guests, Donna furrowed her brows, and Williams glanced between him and Lee, confusion in her eyes.

He motioned to her as he looked at Lee. “Do you feel the need to soil her few remaining good memories? We don't know what's in that flash drive. But if it has anything to do with her mother's gift to me -”

“My mother's _gift_?” Williams repeated, eyebrows shooting up, but he ignored her.

“Lee. I wouldn't want my child to see what I did to her father.” Williams inhaled sharply. “And had she been in her right mind, Garner wouldn't have _wanted_ her daughter to see what she was involved with –”

“I'm not a child!” Williams shot to her feet, a shaking finger pointed at him. “And you, you have _no right_ to act concerned about my sanity. Not after what you did!” she spat.

She was right; he had no right.

But he felt he had to shield her somehow - shield her from the horrors her father had committed.

His lack of response was perceived as defeat by Williams, who turned and didn't deign him of any further glances. Her pleading, fierce gaze was fixed on Lee.

Lee sighed. “I agree with her, Daken. She has a right to know.” She then looked at Hisako. “Armor, we're ready.”

“Yes.” As they talked, the woman had linked the old computer to a hologram; now she connected the flash drive. It contained two unnamed folders. At Lee's nod, Hisako opened the first one.

Photos. Even before Hisako clicked on the first one and the carnage appeared, Daken knew what they were.

Gagging sounds echoed in the room.

Daken stood straight, eyes fixed on his handiwork. He didn't regret anything of what he'd done. He only regretted that Jessica Williams was now looking at it. From her pale complexion and stiff posture, he guessed that she'd never seen them – after all, they'd never been shown to the public, having been deemed too disturbing, and apparently her mother had thought the same, for her not to ever show them to her daughter. But Williams surely guessed what she was looking at.

Her father.

What was left of him, after Daken had been done with him.

The handiwork was... messy, intentionally so. He'd cut the animal, as he'd promised, and made it so that his death was slow and painful. He'd inflicted every cut Eike had been able to recount, and then _more_.

Williams looked away, apparently unable to bear the gruesome details, and stared at him. “That's dad. Isn't he?”

There was no point in denying it. “Yes.”

Kaplan was positively green, as was Hisako. Rogue was pale. Colossus and Lee appeared unperturbed, but it might be they simply could control themselves better. Laura radiated calmness, but her features were set. Quentin -

He didn't want to see Quentin.

Quentin was somewhere in the room, but Daken didn't search for him. He didn't want to see his reaction. He didn't regret what he'd done; he could stand the horrified expressions of the others... but he didn't want to see the horror in _Quentin's_ eyes.

“You _did_ this?” Donna's whisper was hoarse. Her fingers were itching for the gun that had been taken from her. He was reminded of her facing him in LA, of her rage when she'd thought he went around slaughtering actors, policemen, _bystanders_.

“Yes.”

“ _Why?_ ”

It was clear she had no children. He didn't deign her of an answer; he'd told her already. If she didn't understand that, he had nothing else to say.

Williams shut her eyes. “Everything you've done to my child, you will receive,” she muttered, the words he'd told her father. “Everything – oh. Oh. _God_ .” She lowered her head and sobbed into her hands. Donna looked at her, a furrow in her brows, and then at Daken, and at the photo – she slapped a hand over her mouth. The reaction, out of character for her, told him that now she _had_ understood.

Daken grimaced, eyes on the hologram again. “I think we can surmise they're all like this.” Hisako closed the window - the relief in the room when the image disappeared was palpable - and moved the cursor over the previews. Judging from the amount of red in the little squares, it was probably as he'd said.

He continued, keeping his gaze on the hologram: “I don't think we need to see any other photo.” Kaplan emitted a brief laughter that had a touch of hysteria in it. Daken ignored it. “They served as reminder and incentive, probably. Open the other folder, Hisako.” There was no need for Williams to see any more of that.

Hisako looked at Lee, waiting for her to decide, and Lee waved a hand. “Yes. It's... probably better.”

The second folder contained six videos, only named with a date. The oldest was labeled “05.23.2027”, the most recent “09.15.2030” – merely a year ago. There didn't seem to be a rationale in the time intervals.

Williams sniffled. “They're all after she left the clinic.”

Lee sighed heavily. “I suppose we might be onto something here. Videologs?”

“Of _what_?” asked Donna sharply.

“We should play one,” said Laura, very quietly: the first words she'd spoken ever since they'd come into the room.

Lee looked at her. “Laura...”

“We should.” Laura crossed her arms, but the gesture was more of a self-embrace. What were they about to see? Was she preparing herself to see clones appear on the screen? Daken steeled himself as well.

“Yes. Hisako,” his own voice was low and rough, intense emotion surging through his veins. God. “Play the first one.”

At Lee's nod, Hisako did just so.

At first there wasn't much to be seen; it was blurry, the audio unintelligible. The camera moved down a pristine corridor in an up-and-down, up-and-down motion –

“They're walking,” said Lee. She'd crossed her arms too, and was leaning closer to the hologram, watching it intently. Yes, it was clear now. They were walking, and they were being circumspect as well, a hand often covering the camera. Judging from the angle of the hand, the camera was hidden in something at the level of the sternum.

It was _sneaked footage_.

The person – was it Garner? - reached their destination, and before they walked through a door, the neat writing engraved on it came into view:

 

RAZE

Developmental Department

 

Ra–

It wasn't possible.

_Raze, isn't it?_

_Raze. Would you care to explain?_

_We were just wondering what you have been lying about, Raze._

That door was the beginning. The beginning of something. Something that would mold his child into the murderous, temperamental fury that he'd met eighteen years ago.

_You don't want me to tell you everything, do you?_

This was what had turned – what _would_ turn – Eike _into_ Raze.

He wasn't standing anymore – he was on a chair; when had he sat? When had he sat, what was this _wail_ – Daken slapped a hand over his mouth, and the sound stopped.

They were all looking at him. He knew that some X-Men had met Raze in the past, but he didn't know who of those in the room had – but even if some of them had, maybe they didn't even remember the name anymore. It was long past, for them. Nothing to worry about. Just a villain attacking their school.

Not their own flesh and blood.

He waved a hand; he wasn't going to elaborate, not in front of all these people, certainly not in front of Donna and Williams. Maybe to Quentin – but _would_ Quentin want to get near Daken again, now that he'd seen up close what Daken was capable of?

Quentin -

Quentin was behind him, a hand on Daken's shoulder as if touching him didn't disgust him. Daken exhaled, shocked and grateful at the same time, incredulous and exhilarated. Quentin couldn't simply be _okay_ with what he'd just seen, with the General's torture. It wasn't possible, it simply wasn't, and yet he still stood behind him, anchored Daken back – but oh, this must be tearing him apart –

Daken set his attention to the video with some effort; nothing could be done about Quentin at the moment. It was enough that he was supporting Daken _now_ , despite the shock he must surely be experiencing.

The person was now inside the room: it appeared to be a normal office, with some desks and other people. The person sat down, and then the screen blackened as if the camera had been stopped altogether, only for a different recording to begin.

The camera holder was walking down a corridor, and passed door after door after door. There was no name on the doors, for as much as the angle of the camera permitted to see, but there were sequences of letters and numbers. Rogue sat near the hologram, and was jotting down something, probably the sequences.

The camera holder stopped in front of a door, appeared to look around, and went to look into a little window on the door. The recording device was, Daken thought with detachment, probably a miniature camera hidden in a pin or a necklace. Then he stopped thinking, a terrible sound escaping his mouth:

from the window, one could see the room. It was white and empty, save from its occupant: a tiny, naked blue child, with wild red hair and yellow eyes, that sat shivering in the center of the room. Even knowing that the kid _wasn't_ Eike, the uncanny resemblance twisted Daken's guts.

All those doors to the right and to the left, all those doors in that corridor... did they all contain a child?

Quentin squeezed his shoulder and Daken brought a hand up to cover Quentin's hand. The person was moving away from the door, and Daken looked around. There were pale, grim faces, but the palest was Williams'. She hadn't known what to expect; they had.

But even if they had, seeing the little clone was another thing entirely.

 _Laura_. Daken turned to look at her. She'd sat beside him, and was stiff and rigid in her chair, teeth gritting so much that the sound could be heard even by those who didn't have hyper-senses; he wanted to reach out and hold her hand – comfort her somehow – but he knew the gesture wouldn't be well received. Laura was dealing with her own demons in this moment, demons of a different kind than his.

He returned his attention to the hologram. There was darkness once again, and then the worst thing: a child was actually in front of the camera, in the flesh; there was no glass between the kid and the monster who was recording this horror show.

Now the person's hands, covered in surgical gloves, were in the front of the camera, and they were definitely a woman's. It was very probable it was Garner. The woman was apparently performing a medical check-up on the naked kid, looking into the kid's mouth and ears, checking the pulse –

He recalled that Garner was a _pediatrician_.

The person was, most certainly, Garner.

The kid was coughing violently, her eyes – the clones should be female, right? - shining. Had she a fever?

“Well?” came a male voice; Daken surmised that the owner was to the right of the recording device.

“Pneumonia,” sentenced a female voice: it was Garner's.

Williams' breath hitched. Maybe she'd been telling herself lies; maybe she'd been telling herself that it wasn't her mother walking in that horrid place and filming little kids being left naked and shivering and alone in cold rooms.

“ _Pneumonia_?”

“Yes, sir. Pneumonia.” Garner removed her gloves. The kid just sat still in front of her, blinking dazedly. Daken was reminded of the first time Eike had caught a light fever, when nir healing factor still hadn't kicked in.

God, it was horrifying. He couldn't watch this.

He had to.

He was going to kill those bastards, one by one. He was going to keep his promise to Eike and save those children.

“Do you wish for me to see the others of her batch, sir?”

“The others of her batch?” the man repeated, voice level.

Garner turned slightly to throw the gloves in a medical waste unit. “Yes, sir. You're conducting resistance tests, am I correct? To the cold. I've passed batch eight on the way here.”

There was a brief silence. “The others are all fine.”

“I see, sir.” Garner turned to look at the kid again. The child's eyes were vacant, mucus running down her chin. “And her batch was tested yesterday, I guess?”

“Do your job, doctor Garner,” snapped the man.

“Yes, sir.” Garner donned another glove, then reached out to wipe the child's nose with a paper handkerchief. “I recommend to move her to the medical bay. She'll need antibiotics, but most of all she'll need to stay warm for a few days.”

“It will slow down the tests. Can't you give her anything faster?”

“Well... sir.” Garner let the handkerchief fall into the medical waste unit. “I'm afraid not. Shouldn't she – ah – I know I shouldn't ask, sir, but shouldn't she have a healing factor by now?”

“Yes. She should.” The man's voice was clipped, radiating irritation. “In fact, she _does_. She survived the hypothermia. She gave signs of uneasiness just some hours ago.”

“Maybe she's defective. Sir.”

“They're clones, doctor Garner. If she were defective, her whole batch would be.”

“I... of course, I have no education on such matters, sir. But it seems to me, if a defect is found, then...” she broke off, maybe expecting the man in the room to interrupt her, but there was silence. It was obvious what she was about to say. Daken looked upon the little kid who looked so much like Eike and cursed the fact that Garner had killed herself.

He would have liked to kill her himself, very much so.

“Then, sir,” Garner continued, galvanized by the implicit permission for her to keep talking, “as a weak link – if all the creatures of her batch survived what she isn't surviving, then surely it would be better to deal with her now, rather than for her to create problems on the field –”

“Stop talking, doctor Garner.”

Judging from the motion of the camera, Garner sat up straighter. “But –”

“That weapon has been _paid_ for, doctor. _Deal with her?_ Do you have any idea of the resulting waste of money?”

“I –”

“ _You_ have no authority here, doctor Garner. You're a _medical consultant_ , among dozens. Your _relations_ don't matter.”

“How dare you!” Garner's voice was shaking. “My husband _died_ for this project –”

“Oh, _please,”_ spat the man. “Welcome to the club, doctor. You'll notice no one here lets it cloud their judgment. You? You want this weapon dead for no other reason than that it would bring you pleasure. Get your shit _together_ or your contract will be terminated.”

“I don't –”

“Enough.” The man was closer. “Treat her for pneumonia. I expect her to be fully operative soon.”

“Yes, sir.” Garner's voice was cold.

Black again. In the next scene, Garner was bent over a clone in a bed. It wasn't clear if it was the same of before or someone else. The kid just lay there, eyes vacant. Garner maneuvered around the bed, in a manner that could only be described as circumspect. Then:

“This is to check if your healing factor is working, dear,” she whispered in a affable tone, and with a scalpel she –

“ _Turn it off!_ ” A feminine scream echoed in the conference room, and the video was closed in a hurry. Daken sat, stupefied; on his retinae was burned the image of the scalpel cutting the tender, chubby flesh of the child's belly.

He was shaking.

It had been Jessica Williams to scream, obviously. He couldn't bring himself to think anything past that, his brain stuck on that last image, on the kid's expression that hadn't changed as she was cut. It was horrifying. And the resistance tests, those kids – the date of the file was 2027. The kids were four years old at best. How could they have their healing factors already?

How could those animals have done that to children so little? How could Garner have done something like that?

Revenge. For Garner, it was all about avenging the death of her husband. It was probable she hated mutants too, but _that_ was her motive.

He was shaking, and he couldn't stop shaking – even if Quentin was behind him, and was now holding him, he couldn't stop shaking. He felt heat, and flames around him, and realized that Quentin himself was on fire, yet keeping his flames from actually burning and harming Daken. Quentin was holding him tightly, and was shaking as well. He was so sensitive –

Laura.

Oh, God, he should have thought about her immediately. Daken whipped his head around to look at her. She sat in the same place as earlier, rigid, arms crossed; her face was pale, her features set. Should he reach out to her? Talk to her? He knew that kind of shutting down well enough to know that it wouldn't be a good idea. Was she thinking about her days in a facility that was maybe much like this one? Was she recalling those days when she was nothing more that a number, a creature, a weapon? Had she been tortured like that? He knew something about her life, but he'd never pressed for more. He knew what it was like not to want to talk about such things. He knew she had other confidants – Lee among them – and he'd never been worried about her not opening up.

But perhaps he should have known. Perhaps he _should have_ , in order to be able to help her go through this now, help her as she'd helped him so much over these past years -

He realized that heavy silence had since reigned only when Williams spoke again, her voice broken as if she were holding back tears.

“What _was_ that? What was she doing – who was that kid?”

He turned his attention to the room. The grim faces said it all: no one was left unscathed by what they'd seen. Rogue was shaking as badly as Daken, her hands closed into tight fists, nails digging into her palms hard enough that Daken could smell her blood. Kaplan had lost his green complexion and sported a mortal pallor, eyes shut. Colossus' body could be heard creaking even from this distance. Lee had her canines out, her eye closed into a slit, and was staring at the hologram – that now only showed the folder. Tears streamed down Hisako's face. Donna was pale and rigid, nostrils wide, and her focused expression seemed, to Daken, to show wheels turning in her head. She was probably rewinding it all in her head to catch clues. He wondered if she'd expected something this dire.

Williams certainly hadn't. She sat, fingers digging into her thighs, and asked again: “What was that?” Her voice was such a shrill, sharp cry that is showed how young she was... how far from these horrors she was.

“You heard them,” Daken dredged the words out of himself and the young woman turned to look at him, wide-eyed. “Clones.”

“Clo- those were _kids!_ Little kids, they –”

“Yes.”

“How _could_ she? How _could_ they, how –” she shook her head, with wide pleading eyes that seemed to be begging him. He had no answers to give her, no right to do so. He'd killed her father. Garner had taken on that job because of _Daken_ , hadn't she?

No. She'd been a grown woman, and she'd made her decision. She'd decided to work with animals, and had become an animal herself: how many kids had she tortured in that facility?

Suddenly, he realized the reason why she had introduced a camera into that building at the risk, no doubt, of being killed by the people who she'd been working for if they were to ever find out.

To admire her work, in the coldness and emptiness of her own home. To watch those kids suffer, either at the hands of someone else or at her _own_ hands, whenever the hell she pleased.

It chilled Daken to the bone.

“So – what,” Williams continued, undeterred by the heavy silence. “You said they were clones. They called them weapons, but how? They were just kids!”

“Bringing them up _as_ weapons is easier. They won't see themselves as people,” said Laura. Her voice was too calm. Daken was hit by the urge to comfort her somehow, and reached out, his hand catching hers. She let him do it without a sound or any movement of discomfort. He considered releasing calming pheromones, but it seemed empty to do so; it would provide but a momentary relief. This was deep, a wound that would never heal, and using his pheromones on her would be insulting.

“Did they clone Mystique?” Donna's voice was clear, there wasn't much empathy in her words; she just wanted answers, so as to begin thinking of a solution. Her question made Daken snort as a creeping hysteria finally manifested. It was all so unreal, so unbelievable, so _horrific_. Donna eyed him suspiciously, his sudden burst of hilarity inexplicable after what they'd just witnessed, and turned her attention to the X-Men. “I ask because those children look like her. You obviously knew some of this already. Did she maybe inform you of being kidnapped and –”

“They ain't Mystique's clones,” said Rogue quietly. She looked briefly in Daken's direction, maybe waiting for him to talk. It became obvious – as he looked at Lee's grim face, at Kaplan's contrite expression – that they weren't going to say anything more if Daken so decided.

As it should be. This was private, these were private matters – but they'd become very relevant now. This wasn't his family's problem anymore – it had never been; they'd suspected from the start that there was an organization behind the clones, but seeing it happening on that hologram had made it real.

Seeing the alias he _knew_ his child would one day choose made it inevitable.

Donna looked unconvinced; she cocked an eyebrow. “ _Really_ . Those children sure looked like her. Shapeshifters. They're raising an army of _shapeshifters_ and we don't even know who _are_ they. This can't stay secret. There needs to be an investigation –”

“Agent Kiel, they have _control_ over the FBI,” Lee reminded the woman. “Who would you bring this to? Especially now, with this administration's complete _disinterest_ over mutants' safety? Edmondson doesn't even seem to care about the attack on the _White House_!” she spat. Donna met her gaze unflinching.

“This _isn't_ a mutant problem, Wolverine. This is someone playing God, pulling strings in the FBI and perhaps in other agencies as well. This level of corruption is a problem for _every_ citizen. Mutants and humans.”

“We may agree,” said Lee, “But still, I don't see _who_ would you want to bring this to, Agent Kiel. You said that you don't trust your people.”

“Yes.” Donna nodded stiffly. “We need to discover who's behind this first. Do we have any means to exclude –”

“ _We?_ ” Lee cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes. I'm helping. If you'll let me.” Donna crossed her arms. “If Mystique were to identify who exactly took her genetic material, then perhaps –”

“We've _told_ you it's not Mystique,” Daken snapped. Donna had to stop worrying about Mystique. If she dug too much, if she tried to reach out to Madripoor, stubborn as she was, she could find out that Mystique was dead and the person currently ruling the island was Eike. Daken didn't trust Donna enough to share that truth with her.

“Really.” Donna's voice was sardonic, her gaze focused on him. “Right, you're her _agent_. I get you're protecting her interests, I suppose, and she obviously doesn't care that she has many mini-clones that are being brutally tortured, but if you were to pull your head out your arse and think about those –”

“Shut _up_.” He felt his lips curl up in a show of teeth, a growl in his throat. Quentin's hand gently squeezing his shoulder couldn't calm him. How dare she? “Knowing who took the _genetic material_ won't help us,” he spat, “It was Williams' people. That's it. _How_ does that help us? They're all dead.”

Donna furrowed her brows. “Yes, Garner said her husband _died for the project_. But that would mean they took her eight years ago. Was she in that facility too?” She bit her lower lip. “She was ruling Madripoor at the time, wasn't she? Didn't she disappear some months before the S.H.I.E.L.D. incident, faked her death? Has she something to do with it? Revenge?”

“It was revenge, yes,” Daken exhaled. Running in circles wouldn't help. If Donna was really set on helping them, she needed to know the truth; obviously, not _all_ the truth, but this information was difficult to hide for long. Quentin squeezed his shoulder and he squeezed his hand in return. “She wasn't kidnapped. Her child was.”

“Like your child.”

Daken snorted, an ugly sound that showed no amusement. “Yes. Considering we're talking about the _same_ child.”

That surprised Donna, who just about jumped on her chair; she hadn't expected it. The information was known to the highest levels, he supposed, but wasn't in his or Mystique's files.

It was probably to keep what had been done to Eike under wraps: to avoid anyone putting two and two together.

“They're not Mystique's clones, Donna. They're _my child's_ clones.” He shut his eyes. “The perfect child soldiers: shapeshifters with a healing factor... even if that must not be working how those monsters would want.” Maybe it was defective, as Garner had said; otherwise, the kid he'd killed would have come back to life.

“I'm sorry,” Donna said quietly. “I didn't know.”

“You weren't meant to know.”

Donna made a small sound that could have meant anything; then, having abided by the societal rules, she returned to the matter at hand with brisk professionalism. “You seem to be a few steps ahead already,” she said, probably to Lee, as she sounded as she'd turned her head. He didn't open his eyes yet – he preferred to focus on the calm sensation that Quentin's warm hand exuded. “How did you discover that Daken and Mystique's daughter was cloned? Did Garner tell you?”

It was so distant and yet close to what had happened; once again, Daken snorted.

Donna hesitated. “There's obviously a connection; she was in your company when she died, Daken, and earlier you talked about a _gift_ that she gave you.”

“Yes.” Daken opened his eyes; his gaze fell on Williams, who was staring at him. “In a manner of speaking. You're as quick as I recall, Donna. But she didn't _tell_ us anything; she sicced a clone on me.”

Williams brought her hands to her mouth, wide-eyed. She was white with shock; he wouldn't have wanted her to know these things, he truly wouldn't have wanted her to _see_ that side of her mother, to see the damage his parents had done.

But now it was done.

Donna looked at him. “Is she –”

“Dead.”

Donna pursed her lips as what had happened became clear to her: he'd killed a _child_. He saw the child's face again, her snarl as his claws tore through her flesh and bone. Bile rose up his throat. That poor kid had known nothing else than life in that disgusting facility, and had died before anything could be done for her, just because he hadn't been able to control himself.

He'd _killed_ her, and she'd had no other fault that being a victim of Garner's mania of revenge. “We managed to find Garner, tried to question her, but then you showed up – and she killed herself before she could tell us anything. Thus, we have _nothing_.”

It wasn't true; they hadn't _nothing_. Now, they had something: those videos. Perhaps some answers could be found there, perhaps Garner's horrific means of entertainment would be of use to them. Surely they could find some clues!

The others had apparently reached the same conclusion; they were all looking at the hologram, with expressions ranging from thoughtful to downright alarmed – probably at the idea of watching any more of that.

Laura spoke; her voice was very controlled, but she wouldn't fool anyone. “We _have_ something. We need to watch these carefully. I'm sure we'll be able to find answers. Garner seems to be careful, she began recording only once in the building, but maybe she got reckless with the years –”

“Laura.” Lee's voice was quiet. “Yes, we'll watch the videos. But you won't.”

“ _What_?”

“You're too involved.”

Laura radiated shock and outrage at her old friend betraying her so. “Jubilee –”

Lee held up a hand. “No. It's final. And this goes for you too, Daken.”

“ _What_?” his cry matched Laura's. Quentin rubbed soothingly his shoulder, but oh _no_ that wasn't going to work. “They _cloned my child_ –”

“Exactly. You're too involved. You can't watch these. You and Laura can't watch these.”

“I'm perfectly capable –”

“If you could _see_ yourself right now, you wouldn't even _try_ to say that and expect to be _believed_.” Lee grimaced. He doubted he looked that disheveled... “It's for the best,” Lee continued, “We'll be thorough, I assure you.”

“Jubilee –” Laura tried again, but Lee wouldn't see reason. Laura begged, then argued. He joined in, furious that the damn woman was thinking of cutting him out of the work. He needed to do something! Didn't she see that? He couldn't just sit still and do nothing, he had to do something for his child, and this was it!

He couldn't do anything about Creed, but he could do this. He could be of use. He and Laura could spot something that would escape the others' notice.

When Quentin joined the discussion – the other X-Men were just hovering uncomfortably in the background – and took _Lee's_ side, Daken saw red.

“What do you mean, _you think she's right?_ ” he snapped as the man walked around the chair to stand in front of him.

“Exactly what I said!” Quentin crossed his arms. “Look, it will only upset you. It can't help you.”

“I decide what can help me,” Daken growled. Didn't they understand that? He'd hoped that at least Quentin would see. Quentin, who supported him even as he _knew_ what Daken was, what he was capable of – but perhaps he'd decided he'd had enough. Daken took a shaky breath. “I need to _do_ something.”

“I know,” Quentin said gently, his eyes so terribly soft and reassuring.

But Daken didn't want to be reassured now. He had the chance to do something useful –

Quentin crouched in front of him and caught his hands, held them between his own. “But you can't watch those videos, they will only upset you more. You'll load those kids' pain up on your shoulders and it will be toxic and it _won't_ help you, Daken. It will only exacerbate your pain.”

It was true. He knew it was true.

But at least this was something he _could_ do –

He lowered his head, Quentin's fingers caressing his knuckles. The man spoke quietly. “Let us take care of it. Trust us. Trust me.”

“You know I trust you,” Daken murmured. He felt so tired. So tired. To his right, Lee was talking with Laura in the same soothing manner. God, Laura looked worse for wear, a terrible weariness in her eyes. Maybe Lee was right, maybe she shouldn't watch those videos: terrible memories must have resurfaced. But it was different for him: he was fine. He _was_. He could shoulder it.

“Then please, let me take care of this for you and Laura. Let _us_.” Quentin's whisper was urgent and passionate and reasonable and _affectionate_ , yes, as if he still cared, as if he didn't hate Daken, and Daken wanted to believe him. He wanted to tell him yes. He wanted to stop worrying, and Quentin was his haven, and was offering him that. Respite. At the expense of being useless – but oh, blessed respite from all this, from this pain, from all this terrible pain –

He squeezed Quentin's hands. “All right,” he whispered, defeat and relief tasting like ash in his mouth, “All right.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Daken must be asking himself what would be of the future, maybe even what he could do to _change_ it. The mere idea made Quentin's blood freeze in his veins, but this wasn't the time for his absurd terrors – this _wasn't_ the time to think about Evan's mistakes.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accident, and a conversation.  
> Then, the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest day continues! Friendly reminder that this is the third part of a multi-chaptered mini-arc which is going to focus on some upsetting things. This chapter is still safe-ish.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy. As always, feel free to point out any mistake you might encounter, and of course do tell me what you think! It's always a joy when you leave a comment :3
> 
> Without further ado, I present to you the new chapter.

22.

“You want a revelation,  
you want to get it right.  
But it's a conversation  
I just can't have tonight.  
You want a revelation,  
some kind of resolution –  
You want a revelation.”

Florence + the Machine – _No light, no light_

 

 

The videos were disgusting.

Quentin couldn't believe that such cruelty still existed. It had taken every inch of his self-control not to take fire as he watched them; angry screeches had resonated in his ears for a good part of them, the sounds almost keeping him from hearing what was said. It appeared the Phoenix was angered too; or perhaps it reacted to his fury.

The kids – the clones – were treated inhumanely. They weren't _people_ to those in the facility: they were weapons.

Weapons to be experimented on, to be trained – but trained to do what? What was the primary objective of the clones' handlers? Whoever was behind that horror was hell-bent on having an army at their disposal: an army made of soldiers who'd never question an order, who could get hurt in unimaginable ways and still be operative, who could infiltrate anywhere. The perfect army.

And the people running the operation sounded American – and seemed to have something do to with the administration.

In the last video, filmed just the year before, the upcoming end of the presidential term had been mentioned. The people mentioning it hadn't been caught on camera – Garner never filmed anyone, always covering the camera with a hand whenever she looked at someone directly: in this, she'd been careful. But Alison's campaign had been talked about, and the clones had been discussed in relation to the new presidential term. Garner had shut off her camera almost immediately, not to use it ever again, so the X-Men couldn't know who was involved; but something was clear.

There was definitely something rotten in the government. Someone high up in the military, maybe even someone close to Edmondson, was pulling powerful strings. And there was a chilling possibility: it could be linked to the attack on Alison. Why not? If they were so callous as to groom an army of child clones, why shouldn't they attack “that mutant” who'd fairly won the Elections? The Hand lackey had said his masters had been paid to make the attack untraceable to them, and it had worked: it had looked like something random – or worse.

Demons coming straight out of hell to slaughter mutants: it was terrible imagery, that had struck the most conservative minds as divine punishment; and now people turned against mutants once more.

Of course, that didn't prove a link between the two organizations; but dammit, there was a feeble connection already, in the manner of death of both Garner and the Hand lackey. Daken might have been onto something after all, his hunch that of a grieving father: something Jubilation and the others hadn't wanted to pay attention to, up until this very moment.

Quentin grimaced as he walked the corridors to join Daken in the smallest of the student lounges, the location the man had texted him. There was nothing that could be done now, except wait for the results of the analysis they'd decided to conduct thanks to the brief mention of radiation poisoning.

There was nothing to be done, and he felt so useless.

At least he'd been useful in something: he'd spared Daken the vision of that horror. His head spun with the sheer atrocity of what he'd witnessed, and with the knowledge that it had been but a small part of what the children had been through.

Jessica Williams had bravely resisted for as long as she'd been able to, but at the end she'd had to leave – she'd fled in tears, and Rogue had accompanied her. The FBI agent – Donna Kiel – had stayed, not that much upset by the videos. Oh, she'd looked touched from time to time, but not terribly so. She seemed to be lacking empathy, and maybe that was for the best; dealing with these horrors required a level-headed approach.

He reached the lounge. He hesitated for a moment, trying to school his features into something more relaxed, but he knew that it would be useless. Daken was bound to notice anyway.

With a sigh Quentin entered the room. It was empty but for Daken, who sat – or lay, rather – on a couch. He was in costume, and he looked like he'd thrown himself on the couch not to ever move again. He hadn't even turned on the lights; he was barely illuminated by the holo-tv, which showed President Edmondson.

Not that Daken was listening, or at least, he didn't seem to: his eyes were closed, and his head rested against the back of the couch. There were terrible lines on his face.

He looked exhausted.

Seeing a kid that looked so much like his own child being hurt like that – it must have been terrible. Quentin couldn't imagine what it was like.

And it wasn't the only thing in Daken's mind; Quentin knew that.

He'd seen how Daken had reacted at the sight of Garner's office – at the sight of its entrance. _RAZE Developmental Department_ , it said _._ Years had passed from the last time Quentin had heard that name, but he remembered it; and it must be seared in Daken's brain. _Raze_ was the name Eike had used when he'd come to the past and attacked the school, all those years ago.

Daken must be reeling, asking himself what had turned his child into the person who'd someday be part of an _evil_ Brotherhood with his half-brother and _Jean_ of all people. And Beast, who'd just about disappeared after Alison's death. And _Bobby_ – what was left of Bobby, anyway –

Daken must be asking himself what would be of the future, maybe even what he could do to _change_ it. The mere idea made Quentin's blood freeze in his veins, but this wasn't the time for his absurd terrors – this _wasn't_ the time to think about Evan's mistakes.

Daken still hadn't said a word, but he must have sensed that Quentin was in the room; Quentin crossed his arms and decided to open the conversation with something stupid. Anything, _anything_ to relieve the heavy mood.

“You scared the kids away?”

Daken huffed a laughter, but it died immediately. “Yeah. We did.” He kept his eyes closed.

Quentin nodded and walked some more steps into the dark room, his eyes on Edmondson. He stood in front of the White House ruins and he was talking about Jean's stay in Madripoor: he was saying that “Mystique” ought to turn Jean over to face a trial.

He should worry about the attack on his very predecessor, and instead he'd focused his first days on such an absurd witch hunt. Yes, humans had died at Jean's hands, but they weren't the only victims of that day. He really was true to his political party.

Any thought far more sinister than that should be examined with a clearer head. Quentin didn't want to jump into conclusions.

He grimaced. “Are you listening to him?”

“No. Laura was... Turn it down, I don't care.”

Quentin did that, then turned to face Daken. Now it was very dark, and only Daken's silhouette was visible. “Where is she?”

“The Danger Room.” Daken sighed. “I think I made it worse for her. She needed a sparring partner, but I wasn't there – I kept thinking about those children...” he grimaced. “And she didn't want to think about them. Not now.”

“They remind her of herself.” Quentin regretted saying such an obvious thing as soon as it left his mouth. Nothing could be done about it; she needed to deal with her demons on her own terms.

And she wasn't the only one that was reminded of someone at the sight of those poor kids. Quentin couldn't help Laura, but Daken was here, and he needed Quentin.

Quentin took a step in the couch's direction. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

 _No._ Quentin sighed. _You're not._ “You know, you're a terrible liar.”

Daken released a short puff of air. “Definitely.”

Another step; Quentin hesitated. “Can I sit with you?”

Daken didn't answer right away; he seemed, almost, to still, his breathing quiet in the silent room – they were in a secluded area of the school, occupied by just a few rooms, and only faint echoes from the main building sounded from time to time.

Then he exhaled: “Yes.”

Quentin climbed on the sofa, shoes and all, and tucked his legs under him. He lay a hand over Daken's arm. “Come here.”

It didn't require much persuasion; Daken let himself be pulled to half-lay with his back against Quentin's chest, and rested his head there as Quentin wrapped his arms around him.

Quentin brushed his lips against Daken's hair and they sat like that for a while. At least he could do this. He could always offer his silence and his presence, his firm confirmation that he was there for Daken, whenever Daken needed him. He couldn't offer many words of comfort, but this he could do.

Eventually the silence was disrupted by a low grumble – Daken's stomach; Quentin nuzzled Daken's hair. “I seem to remember someone telling me that eating was important,” he said softly.

“Shut up.” Daken's murmur wasn't irritated, but neither was it playful.

“You didn't have lunch, did you?” Quentin continued, unperturbed.

“Why, did _you_?” Daken placed a hand over Quentin's arm. “I don't think any of you was _hungry_.”

That was true; they'd all been too shocked and nauseated by the videos to even think about eating. “Don't you change the subject, now.” Quentin brushed a kiss against Daken's hair. “I'm not so easily distracted. You, mister, need to eat something. I do, too, but let's think about you first –”

“Quentin.” Something in Daken's voice, something that vibrated like shattered glass, gave Quentin's pause.

“Yes. I'm here.”

Daken's hand tightened around Quentin's arm. “I know you are.” There was definitely something in his voice, a tension barely held in check. “Tell me about the videos.”

“We're working on it.” Quentin side-stepped the question. He had no intention of describing what he'd seen and upset Daken in doing so. “You don't need to worry.”

He didn't want to give false hopes, not so soon, but Broo had been positive that he could locate the building Garner had worked in. It was unlikely that it would still be inhabited, but it was worth a try; they could find something in there.

“I don't need to worry?” Daken repeated, incredulous, “But I _do_. Those children are my responsibility, they're Eike's sisters – they suffer because of me, they _exist_ because of _me_ , because I couldn't protect my own _child_ –” his voice broke.

He'd never expressed such thoughts in front of Quentin... but the self-hate had always, _always_ been there, and Quentin cursed himself for not realizing wherein lay the foundations of it. Daken wasn't gnawed by the thought of not having done enough to help Eike overcome the trauma – or rather, he was, but his pain lay deeper. Daken beat himself over the very _cause_ of Eike's trauma – over having been unable to prevent the kidnapping.

And Quentin should have known it. Daken had expressed those same self-deprecating thoughts when Eike had been kidnapped; and he apparently still thought it to be _true_.

It couldn't be healthy.

Not that Quentin could talk; he was entangled in his own old trauma and battled with his own self-hate, after all. But he wouldn't let Daken make the same mistake.

“That's not true,” he said. “It wasn't your fault, Daken –”

Daken shook his head. “You'll never be able to change my mind about this. Don't try.”

“But...”

“Quentin.” Daken's voice was firm. “I appreciate what you told me this morning – I _do_.” His fingers run up Quentin's arm, reached the back of his hand. He caressed Quentin's knuckles. “I might even believe it, someday,” he said so very quietly, “But not this. Don't. Please.” The last word was so soft, it was barely a whisper.

It was, nonetheless, a wall; one that Daken had every right to erect. Quentin ached to tell him that it wasn't true, that he certainly had no fault, that parents couldn't possibly predict everything that could happen to their child; but he'd pushed Daken's patience already that morning, even if he'd done it knowing fully well what he was doing, broaching the subject because Daken would never do it on his own.

Insisting over this other subject so soon could be the last straw. He didn't want to alienate Daken; he only wished for him to see that he'd done so much for his child – that he shouldn't hate himself.

But he should take one step at a time.

Quentin turned his hand in Daken's so that he could clasp it and lace their fingers together. “As you wish,” he murmured against Daken's hair. “But I'm here.”

“I know.” Daken's voice had still that soft quality. “Why?”

It was uttered so quietly, the merest exhale, that for a moment Quentin didn't register the question.

Then he tightened his embrace.

“Why,” Daken repeated, “ _Why_ are you here, with _me_ –”

Oh God, not this again. Quentin clenched his jaw and decided to pretend he'd misunderstood. “I told you. There's nothing more I can do there, we're waiting for an analysis – we think we're close to something. So I came here, to _you_ , because you _needed_ me.” He spoke firmly, giving Daken no chance to catch anything but honesty in his voice.

But he should have known that Daken needed no proof to succumb to doubt. He was so caught up in his self-hate, that Quentin could say the words that lay buried in his chest and Daken wouldn't still believe them, believing himself _unworthy_ of them.

Daken shook his head. “Don't play, you know what I meant.”

“Yes.” Quentin sighed. “I don't know what more can I tell you, that I haven't already. Why can't you believe that I care –”

“You just saw what I did to Williams,” Daken interrupted him, “You can't be _fine_ with that. I can't _believe_ that.”

God.

Yes. He'd seen. He'd seen that first photo, and he'd seen the others when Jessica Williams was out of the conference room; Jubilation had wanted to take a look. He'd seen them, and he couldn't deny that at first, he'd been nauseated. What they depicted was _torture_ , plain and simple. Daken had tortured Williams: there was no other way to put it.

Maybe there was someone who would claim that it was wrong, but Quentin had felt that he was past that – that he had _no right_ to judge Daken. He'd found himself thinking that Williams hadn't suffered enough... that he should have suffered _more_.

So he tightened his embrace. “He deserved it.”

“Stop it,” Daken said fiercely, “You need to stop doing that. Stop making _excuses_ for me.”

“I'm not making excuses. I _get_ it. I understand. Williams did something that was evil. And you had every right in the world to punish him.”

“So, according to your morals, he had to suffer.”

“Yes. It's all right –”

“The people on that Helicarrier? All of them?”

What was Daken doing? What point did he want to make? Quentin wasn't going to leave; he wouldn't permit Daken to drive him away. “ _No._ I don't think everyone in there was guilty of what happened to your kid. Some, maybe; not everyone. But I _understand_ why you did it.”

“You understand.” Daken's voice was flat.

“Yes!” snapped Quentin, “I understand, and most of all I don't care, they're all dead! And you're _alive_ , you're _here_ , and it's _you_ I care about, not them!”

“You have to draw the line somewhere.” Daken extricated himself from Quentin's hold and turned so that he could face Quentin. Even if it was dark, they were close enough that Quentin could see the tired lines of Daken's face. What had gotten into him? “Those men whose execution I ordered, those in the bar.”

“I told you _already_ that I don't care about them! They were vermin. Scum.”

“So they deserved death?”

“ _Yes!_ ” he roared, but Daken shook his head.

“You're reaching. You can't excuse every single one of my murders by doing that – by applying your sense of right and wrong to them. Most of those I killed over my long life didn't _deserve_ to die, at least not by your standards.”

“But they're all _dead!_ ” Quentin snarled, “What does it matter, what I think? They can't be brought back to life, so it's pointless. I _understand_ that about you, I told you already. You kill people; yes. I know. I've _always_ known. So have I. I've _k-k-killed_. Don't insult me by thinking I don't know what I'm doing by standing beside you. Don't insult me by thinking I don't know what I'm looking at, when I look at you.” He reached out, touched Daken's face – his scarred cheek.

Daken was looking at him as if he thought Quentin was crazy, but he wasn't.

He didn't _care_ , he thought savagely: he didn't care about what Daken had done. “I _see_ you, Daken, I –”

He caught himself. He didn't dare say it. What if Daken didn't feel the same, after all? Worse, what if he didn't believe that Quentin did? No moment ever seemed the right one to express his feelings without leaving room for doubt. Because he was _sure_ Daken would doubt: how could it be any different? So Quentin hadn't dared saying anything that morning; he'd gauged Daken too upset to hear it – he hadn't wanted Daken to think the words were merely meant to comfort him, without real intent behind them. And now, now it was just the same –

Daken caught his wrist. “How am I different from Evan?” he said softly, so softly, and for a moment, it didn't register.

Quentin stared at Daken, the words clanging into his brain. He took a breath, and another, and another, and then he exhaled: “What?”

“I'm just like him. I kill. He killed. You called him a monster. What am I, then?” Daken's voice was still so soft, as if he weren't saying the most vicious thing imaginable just to make a point, as if he weren't making a comparison he _knew_ wold hurt – and this, it sure as hell seemed, just to push Quentin away.

Quentin wasn't going to let him do it.

“What are you, you ask? You're insufferable,” he said, voice plain.

“Quentin, I'm serious –”

“I can see that you are.” Quentin was shaking, but he wasn't going to give in. Not now. Never again, dammit. “What I can't see is _why_. Why do you feel the need to show me your worst?”

“Evan –”

“Evan is _dead_. I killed him.” It was a stab, saying out loud, but he forced himself to keep his voice calm. “You're alive –”

“Alive, and a monster, according to your morals.”

“You're _not!_ ” Quentin reached out, caught Daken's hand – Daken tried to escape his grip. But Quentin wasn't going to let Daken think that; he wasn't going to let Daken go. “You're –”

“I'm a _murderer_ , same as Evan!” When it became obvious that Quentin wasn't going to let go of his hand, Daken yanked Quentin closer to himself; close enough to kiss, but only terrible words were brushing against his lips. “You _killed_ him for that!”

“What –” Quentin fought to speak clearly, to _think_ clearly. “Are you afraid I'll turn around and kill you?”

At that, Daken looked as if struck by lighting. Did he really think that? Did he really think that Quentin was _capable_ of that?

But he _was_ capable of that – he'd killed Evan. In that, Daken wasn't wrong.

He opened his mouth; he didn't even know what he could say, shock holding his tongue... but he _knew_ he had to say something –

But Daken shook his head. “No. I'm not afraid of that. I'm just trying to tell you that you're telling yourself that my past doesn't matter, but one day you'll open your eyes and –”

“Evan lost control,” Quentin interrupted him, “He hurt millions of people and wouldn't stop – he _had_ to be stopped. And you never did that, Daken.”

“But what if I _were_ to? You can't know that I won't –”

“I'd stop you. Is that what you want to hear?” Quentin pressed in closer – he had to hammer it in Daken's thick skull. “Of course. I'm a fucking hero and it's my fucking job,” he hissed against Daken's lips. “But I don't see it happen any time soon, so please stop conjuring absurd scenarios in your head. Stop thinking that I'll suddenly see you as a monster, because unless you commit _genocide_ , I won't.”

“Oh,” Daken snarled, “Now _that's_ conveniently specific –”

But Daken couldn't say anything more, because Quentin kissed him. He kissed him fiercely, violently, and bit him, clasping Daken's nape with a hand; and Daken yielded, seemed almost to sag against the couch, and Quentin pressed down and kept devouring his mouth, devouring _everything_ , screeches piercing his ears. He wanted Daken to shut up, shutupshutupshut _up_ ; he didn't want to hear such bullshit anymore. His brain was stuck on those words... ' _No, I'm not afraid of that_ '.

Daken hadn't said ' _No, I don't think you would_.' No, he'd said that he wasn't afraid of that – meaning that he was _fine_ with that.

And Quentin would never do it, Daken had to understand that Quentin would _never_ kill him – the mere thought was horrifying, the mere idea made him want to throw up, knocked the wind out of him. He didn't want to hold that power – it horrified him to know that Daken thought Quentin could someday _hold judgment_ over him. It would never happen. Quentin saw Daken, and understood him, and would hold him close till he had breath in his lungs – he didn't _care_ about Daken's past, about Daken's future, about his own future; he didn't want to think about anything else than the present...

But something felt wrong.

Daken was pressed against the couch, was whimpering into his mouth – _and it felt wrong_ – and Quentin kept kissing him, biting him – _and it felt wrong, something was wrong, a weak surge of panic_ – and Daken was writhing – _panic flaring in Quentin's veins, wrong, wrongwrongwrong_ – a hand against Quentin's chest as he moaned – _it was wrong, plain wrong, he had to stop, it was –_

Pheromones _._ Daken was emitting _pheromones_.

He was emitting pheromones _to drive Quentin away._

Quentin moved back just as Daken sort of pushed him away with, oh, a horribly weak motion that made Quentin's heart stop in his chest. He stared at Daken – at Daken's disheveled costume and flushed features and swollen bleeding lips and blown pupils and he thought _No,_ just as Daken panted: “Yellow.”

Quentin was on his feet as soon as the meaning of the word hit him, apologies ready on his tongue, a slick nausea creeping into him – but Daken spoke first, his voice shaking.

“Don't you ever do that again.”

“I –”

“Don't use it against me, Quentin.” Daken was pale, ghastly pale, and Quentin realized with a start that the room was illuminated by his flames. They hadn't hurt Daken, he must have subconsciously protected the man – but still, he'd gone full Phoenix during a row. He couldn't do that. It was bad enough to use one's powers during a discussion...

But that wasn't the only thing he'd done.

He'd somehow triggered Daken's conditioning.

Shutting up one's partner by kissing them to silence was disrespectful enough, and something Quentin had never even done, but in this case it was plain abusive: there was a point where Daken _wasn't_ able to stop him, and Quentin knew that. Damn it, he'd seen it more than once.

If Quentin hadn't realized what he was doing and stopped first, would Daken even have been _able_ to use the safeword? Could he have kept emitting pheromones to drive Quentin away, to protect himself from what had been none other than an assault – or would the conditioning have eventually forced him to shut the pheromones down?

Quentin took a few steps back, shocked and nauseated. Daken was taking deep breaths now, deep long breaths, and his hands were shaking as he wrapped his arms around himself; he met Quentin's gaze firmly, but his voice wavered when he repeated: “Don't use it against me.”

Quentin found his voice again. “Of course not,” he choked out, “I didn't mean to do that, I didn't, you have to believe me –” his voice died out: ' _have to_ '? That wasn't the wording he should have used.

He'd thought it was all right, he'd _believed_ Daken when he'd said that the triggers didn't matter, that he trusted Quentin to realize and act accordingly if he ever _were_ to trigger something – and while he had, in fact, stopped in time, he shouldn't have done anything in the first place! _How_ could Daken trust him?

Some of his thoughts must reflect on his face, because Daken's features softened... and that was wrong, too.

“Of course I believe you,” Daken murmured, and Quentin shook his head.

“No, fuck, don't _reassure_ me. I fucked up.”

“Yes. You did.” Daken turned his head away and sighed. “As I did.”

“No, you didn't.” Quentin shook his head. “You were worried and you were expressing your doubts and I –”

“I shouldn't have pushed you,” Daken said quietly. “I know Evan is a sore subject.”

“But I shouldn't have _silenced_ you!”

“No, you shouldn't have,” Daken agreed, his eyes still fixed on a spot on the couch. “But you stopped.”

That he'd stopped was nothing to be _grateful_ about. It was just decency. And respect.

And sheer horror at himself.

But he knew why, to Daken, even that small thing was something far greater – a confirmation of sorts.

“I'm so sorry,” Quentin said, because he didn't know what else he could say. There were no apologies possible.

He'd fucked up, and Daken would do well to leave him. Quentin wasn't equipped to have a relationship. He would, probably, never be. Never mind the particular circumstances of his relationship with Daken – how could he share anything with anyone, if he freaked out that often? It wasn't right of him to submit anyone to his paranoia – most of all, it wasn't right to submit _Daken_ to any of it. Daken deserved so much more.

“I –” Quentin clenched his teeth; his discomfort was out of place, and insulting. “I'll leave.”

Daken inhaled sharply, but didn't speak. The moment stretched, and Quentin wondered why he was still standing there, still rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on Daken, who wasn't even looking at him. He'd said he would leave, and Daken hadn't said anything; it followed that he should leave. It was only right.

Quentin turned.

He'd made just a few steps towards the door when Daken's quiet voice stopped him. “Quentin.”

“Yes.” He closed his fists, kept his back to Daken. It would be easier.

For whom?

“I just need to stay alone for a while,” Daken murmured, “Don't beat yourself over this, Quentin. I'm fine.” Quentin shook his head, but Daken spoke again. “I _am_. I'm -” he trailed off, and didn't speak for agonizing moments, a long pause during which Quentin fixed his gaze on the furniture, the doorway, the shadows coming from the corridor. His heart was hammering in his ears, a cacophony of regret and sorrow. “I'm lucky to have you,” Daken said, so softly that Quentin was surely imagining it, his heart leaping in his chest, the words so close to what he wanted to say to Daken. “Thank you for coming here. For being here –”

With a choked sob, Quentin stormed out of the room.

He'd _hurt_ Daken, and Daken said something like that? No, he wasn't “lucky” to have Quentin – no one could be. Quentin was damaged goods, he knew that; he'd shown it, time and again, and now he'd seen it with clarity. The other times that he'd triggered the conditioning, it had been an accident; but this had been, in a way, deliberate on his part. He'd wanted to shut Daken up and instead of talking it out, he'd assaulted Daken. He'd exploited the sexual connotations of the conditioning, and if he hadn't realized, if he hadn't stopped – what would have happened? His mind conjured a horrifying image: Daken beneath him on that damn couch, Quentin's body pressed against his, lost in a mindless rutting that Daken wouldn't – _couldn't_ – stop...

How could Daken still trust him? Quentin had ruined everything. Daken was reeling right now, he had so many things to worry about, and didn't certainly need Quentin ruining it all – and still he'd looked at Quentin with such softness, and reassured him, when he was the one that needed reassurance! His tired features were burned under Quentin's eyelids; his soft smiles that very night, as he relinquished all control to Quentin, and that morning, as Quentin woke up to the feeling of Daken's lips pressed to his forehead, made Quentin's chest ache. Daken deserved arms to be held in, not talons to be ripped by –

Quentin collided against someone and stumbled, trying to locate where he was at the same time as he caught the other person's arm to keep them from falling.

They were at the school's entrance – he'd been deeply lost in thought; it was a miracle he hadn't walked into anyone sooner. “Sorry, I wasn't looking...” he stuttered to a halt when he realized that the blonde woman in from of him was Celeste.

He'd carefully avoided her and her sisters ever since Phoebe's vicious attack.

At least she was alone.

Celeste straightened up; he hastily let go of her arm. “Are you okay?” The stupid question came out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and he bit his tongue. Of fucking _course_ she wasn't okay, because of _him_.

But Celeste nodded. “Yes.” And she stared up at him, brows furrowed, and asked: “Are _you?_ ”

“I'm wonderful, thank you.”

He moved to leave; but Celeste grabbed him by his arm and started walking, pulling him outside quite forcefully. “Yeah, I don't think so.”

“Celeste –”

“Keep me some company, will you? I'm tired of staying in the lab.”

And what could he say to that, given that he was the reason why she and her sisters spent the majority of their time there? He owed her.

So he adjusted his pace to hers and followed her onto the lawn. The sun had just set, and some students were strolling about despite the early winter cold – mostly couples, but there were a few groups here and there.

Quentin had no coat, so he summoned his flames to warm himself.

Celeste didn't speak, letting the voices of the students fill their awkward silence. What did she want with him? If this was supposed to be a confrontation, she should get on with it. Oh, she'd said she didn't hold him at fault for the loss of her powers, but surely that wasn't true.

He studied her serene profile. She didn't appear to be angered or disgusted by his presence; maybe she was concealing her true feelings – he didn't dare taking a peak into her mind – but she ought to explode sooner or later.

He could help her do it; maybe she would hit him. He would let her: God, he _deserved_ to be hit.

“So,” he began, and Celeste turned slightly her head; not to look at him, but to show that she was listening. “Did, huh, did Broo find anything?”

“About the radiation peaks? No.” She shook her head. “He was still running satellite surveillance when we left – it's going to take a while.”

Quentin hadn't certainly expected Broo to have results so soon; that wasn't what he'd asked Celeste.

At his silence, she sighed. “About us, you meant. Hasn't he been telling you anything?”

“I'm – kind of afraid to ask,” he admitted; and Broo wasn't the type to just volunteer personal information about his patients.

“Mh.” Celeste sighed again. “Well, there isn't much to say. Our powers are gone.”

“But he's been running tests, no? To give them back to you?” That was rather blunt; she really ought to smack his head. He had no right to ask that question, especially because he had a vested interest in their regaining their powers, now more than ever –

Daken's voice panting the safeword rang in Quentin's ears.

“Quentin.” Celeste stopped walking and let go of his arm; she cocked her head to the side. “He was, yes. He still is. But there's probably nothing to be done, he said. They aren't simply gone, it's – as if they never existed.”

He stared at her. Her words were matter-of-fact, her voice calm, her features serene: it was a mask. He felt horrified on her behalf.

“What?”

“The X-gene, it's... gone, wiped out. We're genetically human, Quentin.” She finally turned to look at him, her eyes as cold and hard as diamonds. But the lines of her face were still soft.

“That's impossible,” he exhaled – but it wasn't, not really, thinking back on M-Day. He took a step forward, raised a hand to catch her arm; but then he let it fall, and stepped back.

“Well,” she shrugged, “It's a cosmic entity we're talking about. Is _anything_ impossible?” She tilted her head up to glance at the sky, and hugged herself. “The Phoenix can bend reality to its will; it's not that surprising that it could do this.”

“But _why_?” he exhaled, “It could have simply put you to sleep – why rewrite your DNA?”

Celeste sighed. “Why not kill us, even? That would've been an option as well.” She lowered her head to look at him again. “It's a question we'll never know the answer to. Unless you want to give it the front seat for a while?” She cocked an eyebrow.

He grimaced.

“I didn't think so.” Celeste resumed her walk, her steps light and careful on the grass. He stood still, waiting for the storm that was surely about to come, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Maybe she expected him to break the silence.

“Celeste, I'm sorry.” She stopped then, her head bent to the side; he took a few steps in her direction, so that the students wouldn't hear. “I'm so sorry, really. I can't imagine what you and your sisters are going through, it's all my fault –”

“Ah, give it a rest!” She twirled around then, exasperation in her voice, and stared at him with her hands on her hips. “I've got no patience to hear you wallow in shame, you self-absorbed idiot. I'm not one of your friends.”

True; while they'd been civil for years – more with her than with the other two, while still on speaking terms with all three – he could never have a proper friendship with the Cuckoos, not with their sister Sophie's death on his shoulders.

And here they were now, and the Cuckoos weren't mutants anymore; and it was, in a manner of speaking, Quentin's fault.

He braced himself for the worst.

“It _wasn't_ your fault,” she said quite forcefully, taking him by surprise, “And if I see you thinking that one more time, I will _hit_ you, Quentin.”

“But –”

“Consider your next million apologies accepted; it should buy me some weeks of peace.” She rolled her eyes.

He stared at her. It wasn't what he'd expected; he'd thought – _hoped_ – that she would come at him and tear at him, and he would have been perfectly contented with letting her. And here she was... telling him, once again, that she didn't hold him at fault for anything.

What the hell did he need to do, to anger someone enough to be treated as he felt he should be? He seethed. Was everyone he'd wronged bent on coddling him?

Unless they feared the Phoenix's reaction if they were to make him pay for all he'd done.

He crossed his arms. “If you didn't want to confront me, why did you bring me here?”

“Because you're way too fucking hard on yourself, idiot.” She rolled her eyes again. “I saw your face and I thought _God, what now?_ ”

“My _face_?”

“I don't need telepathy to know you've launched yourself on yet another self-pity party,” she grimaced, “I know that look. I'd been seeing it for weeks – I thought it had all resolved.” Her voice lowered and he realized she was talking about Daken. He'd been so transparent, those first few weeks of Daken's stay, that many X-Men had realized something was up; and according to Phoebe, the Cuckoos had even heard Quentin's very thoughts at the time.

“Well, you thought wrong.” Quentin bit his lower lip. He'd been the first to make that mistake – to think everything would be fine.

Her features softened. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Celeste, no offense, but it's none of your business.” He passed a hand through his hair. He could maybe get behind her not hating him for the loss of her powers... but this sudden helpfulness was strange.

“You arrogant drama queen.” Celeste huffed, and took a step in his direction. “I am – I _was_ -” she winced, “a telepath. I'm way more equipped to talk about what's been eating at you than _any_ of your friends.”

 _What_ , in the name of sanity, had she and her sisters heard from him? Nausea took hold of him. _Rapist_ , Phoebe had called him –

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Of course you do.” A few other steps, and now she'd reached him, and linked their arms and smiled amiably. “None of my business; I get it. But it's affecting you greatly, and you're a time-bomb, Quentin; you're the host of a _cosmic power_. So now we'll have a chat, okay?” She tugged at his arm as she started walking again and he stumbled after her, speechless. “I assume it's about that nasty conditioning of your boyfriend's.”

He didn't know what he was most stunned about: her apparent knowing everything – meaning his mental barriers had been ridiculously low when Daken had come to stay at the school – or her calling Daken _his boyfriend_ so flippantly.

He found his voice. “What do you know about it?”

“Bits and pieces. I know you wanted to ask us to try and remove it from his mind.” Celeste steered them towards a bench.

“Nothing else?” He didn't know what would be worse: for her to know everything, or for him to have to tell her.

Celeste let go of his arm and sat on the bench. “You have to understand that your thoughts were... leaking through.” She didn't look up at him. “We shielded the rest of the school, especially at night – to keep your nightmares out of everyone's minds. But we were left defenseless.”

“Christ.” Quentin stood before her. “Was it that bad?”

She grimaced.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“You seemed tormented enough without adding insult to injury. Mortifying you wouldn't have solved anything.”

“Okay.” Quentin crossed his arms. He understood why they'd acted that way – but he was still mortified at his lack of control, and at the thought of the Cuckoos seeing such private things. “So you know everything.”

“The basics. A very powerful telepath, or someone possessing some _remarkable_ psychic powers, put a very specific set of triggers in Daken's mind when he was a child. You either tapped on them and formed something similar, or triggered them so they would make him respond to you.”

“You put it very clinically.” He grimaced.

“I have the advantage of not being involved.” She gestured at him. “Sit.”

He complied.

“Your thoughts were a mess when Daken came to stay here,” Celeste continued serenely, “You were strongly attracted to him, but something happened some years ago between you two, something that made you believe that you'd made use of that conditioning. And that was eating at you. It was eating at you so much that you had very vivid nightmares,” she lowered her voice, “that I suppose were both memories and dreams – horrid things.”

“Yes.” He didn't want to think about those. It had all resolved, mostly; and Daken's memories were his own. “We... we resolved it, more or less.”

“So I've heard.” Celeste nodded. “According to Broo, you've been inseparable. And I've _seen_ you two together. There's something – I hadn't seen you so content in years. I'd surmised you'd worked everything out – but you hadn't, evidently.”

“We... we _have_. We talked about it –”

He explained her how it worked, and the measures they took to avoid accidental triggering. Telling her was almost therapeutic – she knew what he was talking about: she had an understanding of the inner structure of the mind that non-telepaths simply couldn't have.

Telling her also forced him to confront the fact that he was, in fact, doing all he could. He was doing all that he possibly could, and if it turned out not to be enough, he had no choice but to end everything. Wasn't that so?

“Why haven't you tried removing the triggers yourself?” she asked when he finished telling her what had just happened in the lounge, “I know you wanted to ask us out of some sense of propriety, but we aren't available anymore, Quentin. Have you told him that you think it can be done?”

“Of course!” he blurted out, more forcefully than he'd meant to – did she think he'd purposefully keep it from Daken? “But he says it's dangerous... that there are traps in his mind.”

She hummed. “He _vetoed_ it.”

“Yes.”

“So he's fine with it?”

“Not with it per se.” Quentin shut his eyes. “But he _trusts_ me. He trusts me to stop if I notice I've accidentally –” he hung his head, the safeword ringing in his ears.

“And you do. You did.” At hearing Celeste composed voice, he snapped his eyes open and turned to look at her. She returned his incredulous stare with calm serenity. “Isn't that so? Isn't that what just happened?”

“Yes,” he exhaled, “But –”

“But what?” She cocked her head to the side. “You know, this whole thing seems to me to be the prime example of the telepath's most tortured conundrum.”

“The –”

“Ethics of telepathy.” She arched an eyebrow. “How can telepaths be sure that their loved ones aren't being accidentally mind-controlled by them? Signs and counter-measures.” She sighed. “Straight out of Rachel's class, I believe.”

At hearing the name, a pained screech echoed in his ears - the cry of a bird of prey upon finding its nest empty. The Phoenix still mourned her loss.

He focused on Celeste's words. Yes, Rachel had discussed the issue at length - as should every telepath tasked with the education of young untrained telepaths.

He recalled her lessons, the faint rustling of her coat as she walked in front of them like a sergeant. ' _Now, if you're asking yourself that question, that's good. It means you're actually thinking about it, and that in itself is the first step towards a solution. But_ is it _happening, or not? The truth is, you can't know. Not unless you have a superb, refined control over your powers – even the best of us struggle, and it's normal. Now, what you can do, is talk._ Honesty _is the key. Ask your partner. Do they know you're a telepath? If they don't, accidentally mind-controlling them is the_ least _of your problems. But if they do, as they should, they also knew what they were walking into. They trust you. And that's exactly the problem, you might say... How do you know if it's real? How do you protect your partner from yourself? Boundaries._ Boundaries, _kids. A relationship with a telepath is the purest form of dominance and submission, and must be treated as such: with the care it deserves. There's no need to make that face, I'm not corrupting your young mind – not that any of you need_ me _to corrupt them. There's much to learn there for a telepath, kids. There's much to learn for_ anyone _. Safe, sane, consensual: talk. Talk, talk, talk about_ everything _with your partner – about your doubts, your concerns, about their doubts and concerns, about what you do. Be honest, always, and most of all,_ respect their boundaries _. That's the only way, kids. Now, there are signs more alarming than others, of course, and I'll tell you how to spot them, and how to rewrite your partner's mind in case you_ do _realize that you are, in fact, influencing them..._ '

Quentin shook himself from the memory; he had no need to spot any signs. The triggers were there, and Daken and him had always known that – they'd walked into their relationship fully knowing it. Quentin wasn't mind-controlling Daken, it was completely different – but he saw the similarities in the general behavior to maintain.

He nodded at Celeste. “Okay, I see your point. So?”

“So,” she sighed, “If you know there's something at place, and if your partner knows, and if you can't solve it, then you need to take other measures to protect yourselves – and _those_ , you already took. It's a delicate net you two have woven, if I understand correctly.”

“Yes.”

“It's a delicate net and it's held by the _both_ of you, so if you suddenly think it's too much, if you don't trust yourself, you need to face _it_ and _him_ , not mope about on your own. And work towards a solution _together_.”

“I'm just giving him space,” Quentin defended himself, detecting something that sure sounded like sheer irritation in Celeste's voice.

“Sure you are,” she sneered. “Or are you hiding?”

“That's _rich_ coming from you,” he snapped. She couldn't understand, not really. “What do you know about any of this, anyway? You sure aren't speaking from experience. Or are you?” She wasn't, and he knew it. He'd never _seen_ her with anyone.

She stiffened. “No.” Her voice was hard and clipped, and he mentally kicked himself. Was he really doing this? He was taking it all on her because he felt miserable, lashing out on someone who was trying to help him despite their shared history.

“Sorry.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I didn't mean to –”

“It's all right,” she said flatly.

He rubbed his eyes in the silence that ensued, expecting her to leave; but she kept sitting rigidly beside him.

“I'm just –” he tried, and his voice died out. “How others do this is _beyond_ me.” He hesitated. “Can I... ask you a personal question?”

“Go ahead.” Her voice was still cold.

“Do you feel – do you think that a telepath shouldn't even _have_ anyone?” He'd never thought about it, not really: with Idie, things had gone so quickly, they'd both been so young; and Evan... Evan had some telepathic powers: it had never been an issue. But if the danger was so great, if someone could never be sure – how had the older generation done it? How had Xavier and Rachel and Jean Grey and Emma Frost and all the others lived with it – with the doubt? “Is that why you never, you know –”

“Me?” To his ashamed surprise, Celeste snorted. “That's the best you can do? Trash around in this delicate china shop, will you? I thought better of your famed diplomacy.”

He grimaced. “I meant –”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you meant.” She waved a hand. “And I get what you're trying to say, but I can't help you there, Quentin. My relationship status has nothing to do with any worries about telepathic influence.” She pursed her lips. “Although telepathy _did_ make me realize I could never have someone and keep my sanity.”

He furrowed his brows at her strange wording, but he didn't say anything, waiting for her to elaborate. She wasn't the type to make hints and not follow through – and this was a private matter, anyway; he had no right to push on the subject. He was only asking because she'd breached the subject first, because they were telepaths, even if she wasn't anymore, and they were talking about relationships and _she_ was the one who'd taken a hold of him to “chat” over the subject, and taken upon herself to calm him down.

She brushed non-existent dust off of her trousers. “You have no idea of how it is to actually find someone – someone whom you think you can _actually_ spend your life with – and then stumble upon their fantasies.”

She didn't continue; he bit his lower lip. Had he understood correctly her meaning? “Their fantasies?”

“Yes, their fantasies,” she said, in quite an exasperated tone of voice, “Oh, I imagine some would find it flattering, but _I_ find it disgusting.”

Yes, _that_ kind of fantasies. “God, I know, it's so off-putting,” he agreed. He'd happened to see all sort of things, as he learnt to master his powers – being surrounded by horny teenagers and being one himself hadn't helped. “It's something one needs to grow accustomed to. But you can pull out of the mind –”

“Yes, thank you, Quentin. Of _course_. That doesn't mean that I'll suddenly forget what I've seen.” Her lips were curled in plain disgust and she was clutching at her coat. “At least I can be happy about not seeing anything, now that I've lost my powers.”

“Are we talking about really nasty things?” He was mildly thrown off by the sudden change in conversation, but he figured he owed her. After all, she'd been listening to his whining, and had been trying to help him. “I'm sorry you had to see something like that. Have you talked with that person?” He had no idea who was she talking about, so he doubted they'd resolved anything.

“Yes. We decided to part ways.” She cocked her head to the side. “But it wasn't anything particularly nasty, I suppose; although you can't imagine the kind of thing people _think_ when I enter a pub – oh, and if I'm with Mindee and Phoebe it's _worse_.”

“I – no. I can't imagine.” Quentin _had_ , as a matter of fact, had to deal with intrusive thoughts by strangers, and some had really made him uncomfortable... but he wouldn't dare to pretend it was the same as something a _young woman_ would have to face.

And it was the worst kind of harassment, because the perpetrator wasn't aware of it. Some of them were amiable people who wouldn't ever dare to annoy someone who clearly wasn't interested, but they could still _think_ about it.

“Did you ever tell Frost?” He rubbed his forehead. Distantly, he thought that a female telepath would've been better at this than him. “I imagine she would've been able to give you some tips –”

“She couldn't understand.” Celeste's voice was soft. “Yes, she helped, but one thing is intrusive thoughts by strangers and... another is your _significant other_ being caught into thinking about things he should be entitled to – she _didn't_ understand.”

 _Entitled to?_ He grimaced and opened his mouth to say that he didn't think that a partner was entitled to anything – but then her plain distaste really hit him with force: he understood what issue she was dancing around.

He closed his mouth. In the silence that ensued, she sighed. “I'm sorry, you don't need to hear this.”

“Hey, it's all right.” He shrugged. “You don't have to tell me anything. But –” He hesitated. Yes, he was pretty sure he'd got it right, but if she wasn't able to say it by herself, he had no right to force any label on her. “You've been kind enough to put up with me,” he said slowly. “So if you ever want to talk –” Was he overstepping? Had she anyone else to talk about this? Her sisters knew, surely?

“I'll think about it.” She offered him a strained smile. “And you? Will you think about what I've said?”

“I'll do my best.” Her nod looked quite final, her gaze almost distant, so he stood up – she looked like she might need some space of her own. “Thanks for this.”

“Anytime.”

He left her on the bench and went for a walk. He wasn't going to go back inside – he would have inevitably tried to find Daken again, and he was set on giving him the space he'd asked.

And he needed the space and time as well.

Celeste wasn't wrong – he needed to talk about it with Daken. He needed to either accept their relationship - truly accept it and all that entailed, always keeping himself on a high standard and being careful, knowing that Daken trusted him on that – or put an end to it before he really hurt Daken.

He wasn't afraid of the commitment; he was giving Daken everything and he _wanted_ to keep doing that. He was only so terribly afraid of someday not being able to – to miss a signal or lose control and _hurt_ him.

Like he'd just had. He'd lost control, and forced himself upon Daken. Yes, he'd stopped, but the fact remained: he'd lost control over Daken's worries, as if they were unimportant... during a moment in which Daken was experiencing a terrible inner turmoil, on top of that.

He understood what had prompted Daken's thoughts – there were so many shadows in his life, and it was clear he thought that they made him almost unworthy of Quentin's love...

Quentin stopped walking and sighed. Yes; there on the lawn, on the edge of the woods, he could say it to himself - he could even say it out loud, the words bursting out of his chest. What he felt – he couldn't deny it. In the name of that, he ought to make everything work between them. He ought to face Daken's doubts and fears and reassure him.

They'd work it out, they'd work _everything_ out – he was sure of it. He wanted to believe it – he _believed_ it. There was a blazing certainty in his mind, a clear firm point: he had to try. He had to at least _try_. He cared too much about Daken not to. He would tell Daken his doubts, and he would listen to Daken's doubts, and they would make it work. He owed it to himself, to Daken; and to all those he'd loved. He wanted to hold Daken and be held by Daken and never worry about hurting him, never worry about what the future would bring.

He wanted to live.

He wanted to live, and he wanted Daken in his life.

He didn't know if Daken felt the same, but he felt, there on the lawn, he was struck by the sheer _force_ of it - that he couldn't live without him. He'd spent years merely breathing, but that hadn't been life. He'd spent years with a terrible weight in his chest and now it had disappeared – _Daken_ had made it disappear.

They had a chance. If Daken thought they had a chance too, if he felt the same, if he still trusted Quentin – then they could make everything work. Together.

Quentin was glad Celeste had decided to confront him; hadn't she, he'd just have kept on that hideous path, a simmering pool of self-hate and vicious thoughts; he'd have kept hurting himself. She'd made him see things with a little more clarity, talked some sense into him, put everything into perspective. He'd overreacted.

They would solve it.

It was with renewed hope that he went about the rest of that day – but he didn't try to approach Daken, determined on giving him all the time and space he needed. He went looking for Idie instead, and helped her grade essays. They didn't talk much, but they didn't need to. Idie had always been able to understand him without words, and this time, as always, saw right through him.

They went to dinner, and in the cafeteria he couldn't stop himself from looking around, but Daken was nowhere in sight. Quentin hoped he'd at least eaten something.

Their meal finished, he was chatting up with Idie and debating if they should go see Broo and ascertain how was the research going, and make sure that their friend had dinner as well, when Robert approached their table.

“Come to the lab, Broo found something.”

Already? God, he'd really overexerted himself, hadn't he?

Of course, Broo wanted to put an end to this tragedy and find those poor clones as much as anyone.

The three of them made their way out of the cafeteria and stopped to warn Rogue and Colossus, who'd just sat down but stood up immediately.

Daken was already in the lab.

He stood near Laura in the packed room, and stared at Quentin when he entered with Idie and Robert. It was the longest moment Quentin had ever faced, entering the lab and seeing Daken for the first time after his escape from the lounge, wondering what would be of them – but then Daken nodded at him. He looked more controlled than earlier that day; his face was set in an expression of sheer resolution. He was going to throw himself at whatever target Broo would point to.

And Quentin would be there beside him.

Quentin went to stand at a little distance, not wanting to crowd him; Daken would approach him when he was ready.

Jubilation stood in front of them all, beside Broo, who was busying himself with the computers. She was obviously waiting for everyone to come in.

When Billy and Kitty arrived, Jubilation wasted no time.

“I'm sorry to bother you all at this hour,” she began, jaw clenched. “But time is of the essence. We believe we found the location at which the clones have been kept. It's empty,” she sighed, “which we'd suspected; but there might still be something. Broo?”

Broo showed on holo the satellite surveillance of a mountain area covered with snow: a large grey spot was barely visible. “Yes, huh.” He adjusted his glasses over his nose, his wings flapping behind him. “Alaska. That's the Brooks Range.” He pointed a clawed finger at the spot. “I was able to isolate that building. Thermals show it's empty, but _last_ year -” he turned to tap on his terminal, and the same area reappeared, but now it was a thermal video, and the spot was crawling with different colors.

“How do we know it's the facility we're looking for?” said Laura, her voice hard and clear. She looked as determined as her brother, not a trace of the earlier shock visible.

“I had a time-frame.” Broo glanced at Jubilation, and when she nodded, he continued: “In the last video Garner filmed, there was a mention of radiation poisoning. To – to induce the clones' second mutation.” He winced, but Laura seemed unfazed.

“Yes. That's what they did to me.” She crossed her arms. Beside her, Daken clenched his teeth.

Broo adjusted his glasses again, gaze shifting to the screens. “Yes. I analyzed worldwide satellite surveillance, starting from the date of that video, and there were peaks of radioactive activity for _weeks_ coming from that facility.”

“They were going through the _batches_ ,” said Daken through gritted teeth.

“That's what I think.” Images of the area began quickly appearing on the screens. “I checked every documentation I could find, of course, but according to everything I saw, that facility doesn't _exist_. And lastly, starting from the very day following that clone's attack on Daken, the thermals shows no sign of human presence.”

“That's why we need to go in _now_.” Jubilation stepped up. “They left in a hurry, probably because they'd been compromised. They could have left something in there; documents, or trails we can follow. We need to make sure of it before they realize that Jessica Williams came to _us_.”

“Before they go back and retrieve anything they might have left.” Daken nodded. “When are we departing?” Before Jubilation could answer, he took Laura's arm, and the siblings stared the vampire down. “We _are_ coming with you,” snapped Daken.

“I wouldn't try to stop you.” Jubilation grimaced, then addressed all of them. “The team is teleporting in in half a hour. Anyone else who wants to come should go and get ready; we'll regroup in the conference room.” She glanced at her son, who stood in a corner. “ _You_ stay here.” The young man opened his mouth to speak, but she shushed him. “That's not a _request_ , Shogo.”

That being cared of – even if the kid was surely fuming – she left.

Looking around, Quentin tried to gauge who seemed intent on joining the mission: his teammates were obviously the first to leave the room, their faces set. Kitty looked like she would stay... and so did Idie, who smiled apologetically at Quentin and said she'd stay to check on the students; Broo would of course stay behind... and Julian and Hisako were still too weak to sustain a fight. Trevor could be of tremendous use, but he was still stuck in the infirmary, at Iara's side.

It appeared only the team would go.

The lab emptied, but Daken and Laura stayed behind; they were studying the holos with identical scowls on their faces, and they even had the same posture, arms crossed and head slightly tilted to the right. Broo was beside them, but was speaking so quietly Quentin couldn't make out what he was saying, and Quentin had no intention of invading Daken's space – so he turned to leave, only stopping to stare sternly at Shogo, that was still brooding in his corner.

“You _heard_ your mother.” Quentin cocked his head. “Not this time.”

“ _Why?_ ” the young man spat stubbornly. “I'm an X-Man. You brought me along yesterday.” He looked pointedly to Daken and Laura.

“Because Jubilation said so, Shogo.” Quentin arched an eyebrow. He suspected the reason of Jubilation's decision – better leave the kids out of this. “If you want to be an X-Man, you'll follow your _leader's_ orders.”

With an exasperated huff, the kid turned on his heels and left the room. Quentin rolled his eyes. Had he been so eager to throw himself into fights when he was Shogo's age? God, he hoped he hadn't been that irritating.

A hand caught his and he would have recognized that touch anywhere. A flood of unspeakable relief rushing through his veins, Quentin turned to look at Daken. “Hey,” he exhaled.

“Hey.” Daken squeezed his hand. “Are you coming with us?” He talked so quietly, his gaze was so gentle – as if nothing had happened. As if he still trusted Quentin...

“If you'll have me.” Quentin bit his lower lip, some of the uncertainty from before reaching him despite the softness on Daken's features.

“Of course.” Daken brought their linked hands up and brushed his lips against Quentin's knuckles. Quentin's chest tightened.

“About earlier –”

Daken shut his eyes. “Please, dearest,” he murmured as he kissed Quentin's hand. Quentin's chest ached, oh, so much. That endearment rolled so easily out of Daken's mouth, it was a confirmation and a promise. He'd never called Quentin like that – he'd done it just that morning. It seemed ages ago. “Not now. Tell me when we come back.”

There was some strain in Daken's voice – but of course: he was worried. He wanted to get it over with; to find something in that horrid facility. This wasn't the right time.

Quentin could do as asked – he could wait.

It would all resolve.

“Okay. Let's ruin those bastards first.”

Daken nodded. “Thank you,” he exhaled.

After pressing another kiss, this time to the back of Quentin's hand, Daken let go of him and set off. As Quentin watched him go down the corridor, Daken pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear.

Turning to look at the room, Quentin saw that he was alone with Broo; Laura must have left while he was focused on Daken.

Broo was already back at the console.

“Great work, Broo.” Quentin praised his friend, but Broo shook his head.

“It was nothing. I should have worked faster –”

“I'm sure you did all you could.”

“I gave too much time to those monsters, rather.” Broo sighed heavily and sat on a chair. “If they already realized that Agent Kiel and Jessica Williams came to us – and we don't even know if there is _anything_ to find in that facility!” He hung his head; his red eyes were flashing with something akin to desperation. Being a scientist, he was probably even more touched by the sheer horror of it - by what his very field had done to those poor kids.

“If there's something, we'll find it,” Quentin spoke with firm certainty. “And put an end to this.”

“Yes.” Broo raised his head and nodded at him. “You do that. Find something.”

“We will.” Or so he hoped.

He didn't have to get changed – his powers permitted him to dare the coldest climates without worrying about his clothing – so he spent the remaining time before the mission with Broo. He broke the subject of the Cuckoos, both to distract Broo and inquire about their health, and, after having been reassured that Quentin knew already the news from Celeste's mouth, Broo confirmed what she'd said: she and her sisters were genetically human now, no trace of the X-gene in their DNA. Regaining their powers appeared impossible.

The Phoenix had depowered _three_ powerful telepaths, and it couldn't have chosen a worst moment to do so – the overall situation was dire. This was bound to become a political mess: a rotten secret activity within the US, kids being trained to be soldiers – and the general public terribly close to being steered towards mutant hate again, like so many times before.

Not everyone was a mutantophobe, there were people like Jessica Williams, but they were in the minority, especially after D.C.: the attack had been on Alison – the White House had been destroyed because the target was _Alison_ , the first mutant President. Many mutants had died, but no one cared. And then Jean had slaughtered those humans –

The X-Men needed to stay close and stick together and resolve this mess soon, find those kids and save them, because dark times were ahead for mutants.

With those dark thoughts in mind Quentin left the lab with Broo when the time approached; and they were the first to reach the conference room, only Jubilation already there.

Soon the room filled; Daken and Laura were the first to arrive, then Colossus, then Billy and Robert; Rogue arrived last.

Colossus would teleport them all via his sword, but they all had their own teleporter in case of emergency. Broo showed them maps of the area and explained to Colossus where exactly he should appear to gain an easy access.

They were about to leave, when Broo looked down at his instruments. “Oh,” he exhaled, and Jubilation held up a hand to stop Colossus from teleporting them.

“What?”

“A teleportation coming in,” Broo looked up, “From Madripoor.”

“Madripoor?” Jubilation looked at Daken, who appeared as surprised as them all. “Want to share anything?”

Daken shook his head. “I just warned Maiko of what we were doing.”

“Maybe she sent help?” Jubilation looked at Broo. “How many are there?”

“The request is for just two people.”

“Obviously not help.” Jubilation cocked an eyebrow. Daken looked torn, both shock and worry on his features.

“If it's _two_ of them, it's my children –” his face contorted at the last word; was he anticipating or dreading seeing Eike?

“Do you need to stay behind?” asked Jubilation, not bothering hiding the impatience in her voice.

“No.” Daken clenched his teeth. “No, I just need –”

“We've got no _time_ for delays,” snapped Jubilation. “Either stay in the circle or move, we need to _go_.”

“Leave him _alone_ , Jubilee,” Laura shot at her friend, no doubt showing some of her own irritation at being excluded from watching the videos before; then she turned to look at Daken. “You can stay here, see what they want, and then reach us via your teleporter. We could wait on site a few minutes.”

Jubilation sighed. “I _suppose_ we could wait on site a few minutes,” she conceded, then muttered to Broo: “Go on, accept the teleportation request.” She looked back at Daken. “Are you moving or not?”

Daken was rooted to the spot, eyes to the floor. He was beyond pale. His lips moved – nothing came out of his mouth, but he must have whispered something so low that only Laura could hear, because she put a hand on his arm.

“I'll see what they want and reach you on site,” she said, then she left the circle. “Go on, go. Broo, where are they?”

“Oh, in th-” the rest of his answer was swallowed by the mists of Colossus' teleportation, and next they were bitten by the cruel cold of Alaska. Quentin summoned his flames and reached out to catch Daken's hand as the others spread out on the fresh snow.

“Hey.”

Daken looked up at him, but it was as if he weren't seeing him – what had gotten into him? Did he fear meeting his kid? Their last conversation had been terrible to behold, and yes, Quentin knew that Daken thought that he'd done nothing for nem, that he'd worsened the situation, that he'd _created_ the situation in the first place; but this looked like fleeing –

Daken was still pale, but it wasn't for the cold, at least Quentin didn't think so; he was dressed for the weather, wearing one of their thick X-labeled coats.

“Hey,” Quentin repeated softly, and stepped closer to Daken, and caught his other hand too. “Do you want to tell me what was that?”

Daken shook his head. “I can't –”

“What?” Quentin nodded encouragingly.

“I can't face nem if I have nothing. I need something, anything... _Anything_. A _lead_ , at least –”

“Daken –”

“Anything,” Daken exhaled, and leaned into him, resting his head to Quentin's shoulder.

Quentin hesitantly wrapped his arms around him.

They waited like that, as Jubilation grew more and more restless and Rogue and Robert went ahead to scout; Colossus and Billy threw a glance at him and Daken every now and then, but said nothing.

Eventually came the flashes of not one, but _two_ teleporters a few yards from them all; Laura had brought company – _Jean_.

The two women made their way slowly, Laura just a few feet behind Jean –

Screeches pierced Quentin's ears. Jean's helmet reflected the blinding light he emitted, a torch in the night, refracted by the snow, dazzling his senses, crushing him with guilt. He'd done this to her – he'd _blinded_ her. He'd torn her apart, he'd shattered her control and yes, he'd rebuilt it, but at what price?

Jean came closer, and closer, and there was an echo in his ears, an echo of an echo, a dull muffled _pull_.

He'd felt it before.

He had no time to freeze at the recollection – he just acted, counteracting with a pull of his own to keep the Phoenix inside him; it wasn't a conscious attack on Jean's part, just something _stirring_. The pull quickly vanished, almost as if he'd imagined it.

Then Daken stiffened.

“Eike?” he asked, voice choked full with emotion.

Laura stopped. “Ne's fine. Ne returned to Madripoor –”

“ _No_.” Daken tore away from Quentin, and turned to face his sister. “What are you doing?” His voice shook with what sounded like incredulity.

Jean had stopped as well, head cocked to the side.

Laura clenched her jaw. “What do you mean, what am I –”

“Don't play games with me!” Daken's voice broke. It wasn't incredulity, Quentin realized – not just that, at least. It was plain panic.

What was happening?

Laura took a step back and grimaced. “I'm not –”

“You're _impersonating your aunt_ ,” choked out Daken. “Where is she? What have you done to her, Eike?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ His child was gone.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiko makes a decision. Daken struggles with ghosts past. Eike faces what was done to nem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get hard in the next few chapters. I feel this is the right time to say something I've been meaning to say for a while now: it's going to be okay. It won't end in tears. Sure, it will be a difficult journey; but I promise a happy (bittersweet?) ending. It's going to take a long while for this fic to be finished, but I wanted this to be clear.
> 
> Now, some **TRIGGER WARNINGS** for this chapter:  
>  \- triggered memories of abuse in both Daken's POV and Eike's POV  
> \- self-harm, upsetting imagery, body horror, parricide in Eike's POV
> 
> As always, keep in mind that I'm not a native speaker and I'm doing the editing myself. Feel free to tell me if you find any mistake.

23.

“Oh, the queen of peace always does her best to please.  
Is it any use? Somebody's gotta lose.  
Like a long scream out there, always echoing –  
Oh, what is it worth? All that's left is hurt.”

Florence + the Machine – _Queen of Peace_

 

 

Maiko had made up her mind.

She would take matters into her hands. There was no room for doubt anymore, no time for careful consideration. She had to do what needed to be done – and that was put Eike and otousan in the same room and keep them from leaving until everything was on the damn table... until all the pain and grief, all that had happened was _out_.

Eike was never going to reach out to otousan – that much was clear by now, despite nir reassurances to the contrary. It had become increasingly clearer, as nir moroseness grew more and more pronounced, that ne feared the confrontation, and was postponing out of sheer panic – but not only that. Ne'd lost faith in otousan: ne'd tried to hide it from Maiko, but the disappointment had been clear in nir eyes as ne watched otousan leave with Phoenix.

And otousan wouldn't reach out to Eike, as well, so stuck was he on his damn stubbornness, on his conviction that by keeping away he was doing what was best for Eike when in truth, he was doing the worst possible thing he could do: he was doing what Eike perceived as _fleeing_.

Her family was falling apart and she had to do something. She had to keep them together and whole, she had to help otousan mend Eike's wounds, she had to help otousan mend his own.

 _I don't need you to hold my hand_ , she recalled otousan had told her; it had stung when he'd said that, as if he were shielding himself against her as well. It was bad enough he didn't listen to her warning, now he got on the defensive and apologized to her – for what? For being human? He had to admit to himself that he was fallible, like everyone; that he didn't _have_ to be perfect. He had to see the truth in Maiko's words and accept the confrontation with Eike. Maybe healing would take time, but it would at least be a first step –

Chie stirred beside her; with a sigh, Maiko rolled to the side to come face to face with her partner's worried gaze. “Good morning, love,” she murmured, and attempted a smile.

Chie furrowed her brow. “You haven't slept.” It wasn't a question. Maiko sighed.

“Well, technically, I did.”

“ _Maiko_.”

“Just not the required amount of time.” Maiko grinned, brushed a peck against Chie's lips and sat up.

“And that's healthy.” Chie sat up as well, catching Maiko's hand and squeezing it. Maiko squeezed it back, then swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“I'm fine, love,” she reassured Chie. “Where's Eike?” she asked as she caught her blades from the nightstand and secured them to her arms.

Chie sighed heavily. “Gym.”

“ _Already?_ ” Maiko grimaced at the clock. It was terribly early.

Well then, this was to be the day. She would call otousan, and urge him to come to Madripoor once she was finished with the damn paperwork of the day. She would ambush both otousan and Eike and they would talk.

Hopefully without nir brother. “And Charles?”

“Sleeping.”

She didn't trust that kid. Oh, she didn't doubt he loved Eike – his body language was transparent, as was anyone's who'd never had training in deception; and both Chie and Jean would have surely noticed anything that could have escaped Maiko's attention.

No, the young man was healing from his own wounds, and didn't trust easily, and had latched onto Eike; and the dynamic had something in it, something Maiko couldn't quite put her fingers on, but that made her twitch with uneasiness sometimes. Apart from the time he spent in training under Jean, he was inseparable from Eike. It was to be expected – ne was his sibling, after all: the only truly familiar face in a environment that had embraced him but that was still fundamentally alien to him. They talked at length, walked with linked arms – it was the relationship Eike had never had with Maiko, their age difference too big. Eike and Charles were on equal ground, in more ways than one, even in their trauma; and it showed.

It could almost be mistaken for jealousy on her part, and while she could recognize its petty tendrils, she knew to trust her gut – she'd learnt it from a young age, far before otousan had taken her in.

She shook her head; Charles would have to wait.

She went about her morning routine quickly, set on calling otousan before Eike returned to the apartment. Chie watched her from the bed, a crease of worry on her forehead.

“I know that look,” she said eventually.

“Mh?” muttered Maiko as she browsed the closet; she selected a simple white blouse to be as reassuring as possible.

“The ' _I have the solution but it will demand a sacrifice I don't know I'm willing to make'_ look.”

Maiko stilled her fingers, leaving the blouse half-buttoned. “That's – oddly specific.”

“I _know_ you, love.” Chie's gaze softened. “What is it? I can almost hear you think.” The joke was an old one, and it brought a smile to Maiko's lips. “You've finally reached the limit, haven't you?” Chie rose to join her beside the closet. “You're going to tell your father about Mystique.”

Maiko nodded as she fastened the remaining buttons. “I have to. I know I should wait for Eike to do it, but I can't shake off the feeling –”

“- that ne has no intention to.”

Letting out a sigh, Maiko leaned into Chie. “Ne'll hate me for this, won't ne?”

“No, love.” Chie embraced her tightly. “Ne'll understand it's for nir best. Ne's a smart kid, you know that. Ne knows ne has to come out about Mystique's death, ne's just -”

“- _scared_.” Maiko sighed. Eike was scared of how otousan would take it and Maiko understood that; she knew how terrible otousan's pain was to witness. But maybe this time it would be different.

Otousan had Phoenix, and he seemed to be trusting the man in ways he could never trust Laura or his own daughter or one of his advisors. And Phoenix seemed to be taking care of otousan. Maiko had prayed for so long that otousan would find someone, and now it truly looked like he had.

If otousan now had a partner, someone to hold him, who cared so deeply about him, maybe this time he would allow himself to be helped in shouldering Eike's pain. Maybe this time he wouldn't let himself be annihilated by it. Maybe he would even forgive himself eventually.

That last hope would be the most difficult to achieve. But all they had to do was take the first step; the rest would follow.

So she braced herself and left Chie's comforting embrace and donned her armor; she caught her phone and sat down on the bed as Chie smiled reassuringly; and she was about to call when the phone rang, the caller none other than _otousan's_.

Eyebrows shooting up, she accepted the call quickly; she would take it as a good sign. “Otousan? I was about to call you -”

“Dear, we found them.” Otousan's voice was unusually alert; he didn't seem to have heard her.

“Found who?” Furrowing her brows, Maiko leant forward, resting an elbow on her thigh. Could it be -?

“The _facility_ , Maiko, the clones! We have it –” Maiko gasped, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, mind reeling – she had to tell Eike – but otousan said quickly: “It's _empty_ , Maiko, they left it, but there could be something! We're going in –”

He went on to explain how a team of X-Men was about to teleport on site, how the site itself was in Alaska, how he would find them, find the clones for Eike, _save them_ for Eike, and her heart ached at the pain in his voice, at the need his words exuded – the need to do something, to prove himself to Eike.

“That's great news, otousan,” she breathed when he was finished, “I'm sure you'll find something.” It wasn't just her hope – she felt he needed the encouragement, and she feared the outcome if they were to find nothing. He desperately wanted to give this to Eike – a peace offering, maybe, or a prayer. As if he could save all those children and tell Eike: ' _See? They're fine. All will be well. You'll be fine too._ '

But there was something else on the table, something _else_ hurting Eike, something otousan still didn't know – something that finding the clones wouldn't heal.

“And when you're finished...” said Maiko, fighting to force her voice past the sudden lump in her throat, “When you'll be finished, otousan, will you come here? In Madripoor?”

He hesitated. “There? I don't know if I'll have something, Maiko, there could be noth-”

“Even if you have nothing,” she said forcefully. “Please, otousan, we need to talk. You know that.”

There was silence then, and she shut her eyes and counted her heartbeats, debating whether she should let something on, make him understand how dire the need was –

He sighed. “I'll see what I can do.”

“ _No_ , otousan. Promise me you _will_ come.”

Another hesitation. “Maiko, are you all right? I know I –”

“I'm _fine_! Just please, please tell me you'll come here!” A hiccup escaped her mouth then, and she felt another weight on the bed – Chie sitting beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I can't – I can't anymore, otousan, please, _please_ –”

“Of course I'll come,” otousan said softly, his voice strained as if he were holding himself back, “Of course, darling, I'll be there. I'm so sorry –”

“ _Don't_ ,” she begged, holding on to Chie like a lifeline, “I'm fine, otousan. Go and do your thing, find something and _come here_. Okay?”

“Maiko, are you –”

Ah, for crying out loud, she was fine! She wasn't the one who needed help! It was her family, her family falling apart, her sibling and her father hiding behind their pain despite needing help and here she was, holding everything together and running a damn country at the same time, but she couldn't anymore, she gasped with panic, she _couldn't_ –

She was peripherally aware that Chie had taken the phone out of her hand, and heard her voice as she talked to otousan; she couldn't quite make out what Chie said, only that she was reassuring otousan and urging him to do what needed to be done and then hurry to Madripoor.

She leaned against Chie, taking deep breaths, desperately trying to calm down; and soon Chie wrapped her arms around her. “He'll come, love.”

Maiko nodded and hid her face in the crook of Chie's neck.

“You scared him.” Maiko wailed, chest tightening with guilt, and Chie shushed her softly. “It's almost done, Maiko, it will be over soon.”

“I -” Maiko sobbed, “I don't know what came over me –”

“Love, you've been sitting on that for weeks. It's all right.” Chie held her tighter.

 _And I thought I was fine._ Maiko lost herself in Chie's embrace, cursing herself for not taking notice of it, for not realizing the fine line she was walking. She'd had the gall to feel frustrated at otousan and Eike, but she'd made the same mistake; she'd thought she could hide it, she'd thought she should be strong for her family.

But it would be over soon. There was that, at least.

It was with this renewed certainty that she managed to steel herself, set on navigating with dignity the few hours left, and she disentangled herself from Chie's arms to do her job. She had many things to do, things that wouldn't manage to get her attention once otousan joined them.

After many reassurances, she convinced Chie she would be fine and left her in the apartment, headed for her study; but she was intercepted by Eike, stepping out of the elevator just in time to see her – _really_ see her, the mask she'd donned pointless to him.

He jogged over to her, concern plain on his features. “Hey, what happened?”

She studied him, studied his sweat-streaked brow, the hard lines of his face, how tightly he held himself, and knew she'd done the right thing. _What happened? I betrayed your trust, and I'm glad I did. This can't go on._

She smiled. She should pave the way, introduce the topic, so that Eike would _listen_ when otousan came, and not flee at the mere sight of him. “I just heard from otousan. Don't get your hopes up, but – maybe we'll discover the clones' location soon.”

“ _What?_ ” Eike's eyes took on a feverish light, like two lamps flashing bright. “Where –”

“The X-Men found the facility where the clones were being kept,” she explained, catching his arm – he seemed ready to bolt. “It was abandoned after that kid attacked otousan, but since they apparently left in a hurry... the X-Men think they could be able to determine -”

“- the new location,” Eike interrupted her, his voice a weak exhale.

“Yes.” She squeezed his arm. “He'll let us know when –”

“Let us _know_?” Eike looked at her, uncomprehending. “Maiko, we need to be _there_! What if they find some clone and –”

“Eike, it's empty –”

“How do they know that? They haven't gone in yet! What if they find a clone, she'd be scared out of her mind! I need to be there –”

She hadn't expected such a reaction, but she should have; Eike felt deeply for the clones, even calling them imouto when he talked about them, about how he needed to find them. “It's highly unlikely they'd find one, Eike,” she said firmly, “And the team should have departed the school already, anyway.” Or at least it should be so, if the schedule otousan had given her was to be believed – but Eike didn't need to know that she wasn't sure.

Eike stiffened, his eyes closing into slits for a fraction of a second. “And if they _do_ find one, or more than one?” He bared his teeth. “I'd certainly be more of a familiar face than the X-Men. I want to be waiting at the school, to help the transition.”

 _There will be no clone to help_ , thought Maiko. It was unlikely that one of them had somehow been left behind, given the lengths that had been taken in order to acquire them. Hope burned bright in Eike's eyes, and it was actually painful to behold, because Maiko knew the disappointment would only be greater.

At the same time, if Eike wanted to wait at the school, that meant he wasn't that wary of facing otousan again; and if otousan were to use any lack of information as an excuse not to travel to Madripoor – which could always be a possibility, given how hesitantly he'd agreed before her outburst – then Eike being _already_ there would actually be beneficial.

Yes. It could definitely be a safer course of action. But she couldn't leave Madripoor yet; she still had many things to do, and should appoint someone to run the island in her absence, in case she and Eike were detained; she didn't think their confrontation would take little time. Chie would be the better and most obvious choice, but Maiko still had to notify other agents of the absence of her and Eike both –

She smiled at him. “You're right, of course. I still have some things to do; do you want to wait in my study or shall we adjourn in, say, twenty minutes?”

Eike didn't answer right away, eyes almost cold, as if bristling at an offence she hadn't even realized she'd committed. Did he want to leave immediately? Surely he knew that he couldn't, not on his own! The school was a familiar ground, but even so, there were arrangements to be made.

Eike shrugged. “Jean says she can come with me right now, she has nothing to do. Charlie's sleeping.”

 _Oh, and Jean feels she can go behind my back now?_ There was a sudden flare of irritation in Maiko's blood, but she hastily shut it down. It would accomplish nothing, and it wasn't Jean's fault that Maiko wore a TeBlo and couldn't be consulted telepathically – and that Eike apparently was really angry with her at the moment, for him to ask Jean to accompany him behind her back. “I hardly think -”

“She or Chie would have to come anyway, to shield my mind,” said Eike, “And you can't just _rush_ through the paperwork, that's not how you run a country.” He grimaced. “You can catch up with us when you're done, it's far more responsible.” He crossed his arms.

Now Maiko could pinpoint the origin of his disappointment: she'd talked of leaving Madripoor to its own devices without properly organizing it for their absence; twenty minutes was an impractical estimate, and disrespectful to all the work they'd done, all they'd sacrificed – especially their sacrifices. After all, Mystique had died because she hadn't trusted what they'd been doing in the island; because she hadn't trusted Maiko to have the better interests of mutants at heart.

“You're right, of course.” She sighed, and took her cell phone to contact Jean.

After a short discussion with the telepath, during which Maiko told both her and Eike to notify her as soon as the X-Men came back, she parted ways with Eike.

He would join Jean at the teleportation room. The woman was already headed there when Maiko called her: she would have probably left for the school even if Eike had stayed in Madripoor for the moment. The telepath wanted to speak with her friends, perhaps ask them what did they think of otousan's theory that the facility was connected with the people that had payed the Hand. The air had rippled dangerously when, the day before, their agents had returned from the school and recounted what had transpired after the confrontation with the ninjas. Jean was desperately looking for someone to blame, someone who would have to face her anger. She'd even tried to join the fight against the Hand, but Maiko had managed to talk some sense into her: she was a wanted criminal on US soil, and couldn't join the X-Men for that endeavor.

But just going to the school? That she could still do, and so it was no wonder that she'd now immediately taken the chance.

Maiko put all such thoughts aside as soon as she reached her study, set on dealing quickly and precisely with everything she could, so she could leave with a clear conscience as soon as the X-Men came back from the facility.

The first thing she did was watching President Edmondson's latest press conference. She'd read the speech already, of course, as she couldn't sleep that night; but she was interested in his body language as well as his voice as he delivered it. He'd apparently decided that politely asking Madripoor for Jean's release wasn't going to work, so now he was positively rallying the masses, questioning the reason behind Madripoor's refusal, even going as far as suggesting between the lines – _very_ subtly, Maiko had to give him credit – that Madripoor was collecting forces to attack other countries.

He was a war-loving fool, and he was dangerous. They would have to deal with it before it blew up in their faces.

Rubbing her temples, Maiko sighed and turned her attention to the holos to sign or review: the usual requests for a meeting with “Mystique”– she organized them in order of importance; plans for a school similar to the Jean Grey School – they'd have to meet the needs of the many children on the island, that had grown in number when they'd seized power; a joint letter calling for the construction of the promised teleportation points, yet to be built – the network had been put on hiatus after the attack on D.C., and she still wasn't sure how wise it would be to give such a handy access to the island, especially now that Edmondson was all but threatening a war –

The door to her study opened, but she didn't raise her head. “I don't want to be disturbed.”

“Maiko.” It was Charles; Maiko waved a hand.

“Jean and Eike are in New York, they'll come back –”

“Maiko!” Charles' voice was shaking and Maiko whipped her head up.

He was in her doorway, pale and stiff, still in soft pajamas. Maiko's heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“You should go to the school. Like, now.” He was wriggling his hands, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.

“What do you mean, I should -” She glanced at her cell phone; maybe she hadn't taken notice of Eike calling her? But no, there was no missed call – “What happened?” She stood up and he winced.

“I –”

“What _happened?_ ” she snarled, moving to leave the study. There must have been something truly ferocious in her gaze, because he shrieked and jumped out of her way; then he went after her in the corridor, but still he wasn't saying what the hell had happened. Exasperated and terrified, dread filling her veins, she stopped dead in her tracks, pivoted and pointed a knife at him.

Was Eike fine? Was otousan fine, oh God – was that why Eike hadn't called her yet, otousan was wounded or dying and Eike had just forgotten to call –

Charles stared at the knife with wide eyes and gulped. He couldn't take her down, not unless he overrode her chip and did very serious brain damage to her in the process; and she knew he wouldn't, because he _loved_ his little half-brother who in turn loved Maiko –

And she was treating Charles like a thrice-be-damned _threat_ , the adrenaline clouding her judgment.

She lowered her knife with a grimace. “I'm sorry. But Charles, what –”

“It's my _fault_ ,” blurted out the young man, “I told nem that you had to stop treating nem like a kid, that you and your father had to stop, that ne had to – to take matters into nir hands and – face what has been done to nem and –”

“And what?” She searched his face for _anything_ , found only naked concern.

“And I didn't think ne'd do _that_ ! Fuck, _I'm_ one to talk, but that's something else, that's –”

“Charles.” She caught him by the shoulders, a suspect now in her mind. “Where's Eike?”

“The school... ne just came back... they just came back, ne was... ne was with the X-Men, it woke me up, nir mind I mean, they – they were in that facility, where the clones –”

She tried to make sense of Charles' blabbering, filing for later the fact that Eike's mind had _woken_ Charles up, whatever it meant. Eike had gone to Alaska, as ne's _said_ ne wanted to do, and then – what had happened? “They _found_ clones?”

“No –”

“And otousan's fine?” It was the only remaining possibility. Had Eike been hurt, Charles would have said that immediately.

“Yes –”

“Then what happened?”

He told her.

And it was only because she was still clutching at his shoulders that she managed to hold herself upright.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you mean, what have I done to _Laura_?” said Eike, still wearing nir aunt's body, as if ne could trick Daken. “It's _me_ , Daken.”

“Do you think I can't recognize my own child?” Daken took a step in nir direction, torn between shaking nem to nir senses and the dread he felt at confronting his child for the first time after what ne'd told him, after the just accusations ne'd thrown at him. He steeled himself. “Laura smells nothing like this.” And the other faint scent that Daken caught coming from nem – no, he was surely wrong. It couldn't be –

“I think maybe the cold is tricking your sense of smell,” Eike crunched up Laura's nose, in a fairly good imitation – but ne _wasn't_ as good as nir mother, and ne couldn't change nir own scent like nir mother could, even if it was clear ne was _trying_ to even now.

“If it has, then it's tricked mine too,” interjected Lee, coming to stand at a few feet from them. “You aren't Laura. And you smell of her _blood_.” She bared her vampire teeth.

Daken blanched. The woman could smell it too, then. Laura's _blood_ , coming from Eike. “Eike? What have you done?”

Behind him, Quentin shifted on his feet; Jean Grey modified her stance as well. Were they battling in their minds? What the hell was the woman thinking, bringing Eike here, with Laura's blood on their hands –

“Oh, I knew it wouldn't work!” Eike threw nir arms up and turned into herself. “For fuck's sake!” Her face twisted into a grimace, like in Madripoor, like when she'd told Daken – _God_ – like when she'd told him she couldn't bear his presence. “She can heal, she's _fine_!”

To that, Daken didn't know what to say, the reality of the situation throwing him off balance. This was the first time that he saw his child, and he was accusing her and attacking her instead of begging her forgiveness, apologizing for all the harm he'd done to her –

“You hurt her and it's no big deal because she can heal?” snapped Lee, “You have some things yet to learn, kid.”

“But she's _fine_!” Eike repeated, “Jean, tell them she's fine –”

“You didn't have to stab her, Eike,” Grey said quietly.

 _My God._ Daken shook himself. “Stab –” his voice died out. And of course Laura would never expect an attack from her _niece_ , whom she'd watched grow up –

“She didn't want to let me come.” Eike shrugged. “It's really not that big a deal, because she _will_ heal. Up and about in a few minutes, yes? Twenty, maybe? Or was it half a hour?” She shrugged again, took a few steps to her left – away from Daken.

Half a hour? As if she'd –

“Are we finished?” she continued, as if nothing was wrong, as the horrifying realization hit Daken, “Don't we have a mission? Time is of the essence and all that?”

Half a hour to heal, as if she'd _killed_ Laura.

“ _We_ have a mission.” Daken couldn't recognize his own voice, so hard and clipped it was. Eike jumped at hearing it, as did Lee. “ _You_ will go back to the school, and apologize to your aunt.”

“She's _fine_ !” Eike was simply refusing to look at Daken. As if she couldn't stand his sight, or as if she didn't _care_ – Daken didn't know what was worse.

“That doesn't mean you didn't hurt her!” Daken fought to keep his voice clear. “You _killed_ her!”

Eike's heat skipped a beat.

“She'll _heal_!” she screeched then, wide-eyed with panic and something else, something Daken couldn't place. “I did it because I knew she'd heal, if I'd just wounded her she'd have kept moving – I... I _knew_ what I was doing, so it's all right!” It was as if she were trying to convince herself as well as Daken and the X-Men, looking frantically at Jean as if the telepath had answers Daken hadn't. Daken felt a vicious rush of jealousy, which he had no right to feel, not when he'd hurt Eike so much – and at the same time, a terrible worry for Eike's thought process, that had led her to hurt Laura as if it didn't matter. ' _I knew what I was doing?'_ How did that justify what she'd done to her aunt? Tactically, it had been a sound choice, one Daken himself could have made, but Eike _shouldn't_ _have_ _had_ to make that kind of choice.

“It's _not_ all right.” Daken managed to take a step in the direction of his daughter, who was still looking at Grey with that disconcerting expression, as if trusting her to fix it all.

Trusting _her_ , and not Daken.

And Grey didn't care about Eike. Had she, she'd have kept his daughter at the school after what she'd done, and instead she'd brought her here, in this damned, horrible, frozen hell of a place.

Daken took another step. “Eike.” He fought to speak clearly against the lump in his throat. He had to steel himself and be a damn father. He couldn't just keep silent because of the guilt he was feeling, this was something Eike had to understand: she'd done something she shouldn't have done, she'd betrayed Laura's trust, _hurt_ her. “Eike, look at me.”

His daughter turned, and her eyes were bright with tears. “I _had_ to. I needed to be here, I – the clones, what if you find clones and –”

Ah. “Laura only wanted to spare you the sight. She knows how that is, Eike. She _knows_ how you feel.” Eike looked away in shame. “But we are quite sure there are no clones here. Hasn't Maiko told you –”

“Yeah.” Eike's voice took on a sudden cold quality, and she passed a hand over her face. “As if I didn't know it was just so that I'd stay put. I have a _right_ to be here!”

And where had that come from? Was that what Maiko wanted to talk about? Perhaps Eike was so upset that she was taking it out on her as well, and Maiko hadn't wanted to tell Daken, not to worry him, but perhaps now she simply couldn't take it anymore? It must have become unbearable, because here was Eike now, talking like this –

A horrible doubt hit Daken.

“Did Maiko try to stop you as well?” he asked, dreading the answer, but Eike stiffened and looked at him like –

\- like when she talked about Logan abandoning Mystique to her fate. That spark of vicious hate in her eyes – like when she'd accused Daken –

“How dare you even _think_ that?” Eike shuddered, and took a step away, closer to Grey, who looked at Daken – in a manner of speaking, her face covered by the helmet.

“Maiko's fine,” said the woman, and unspeakable relief rushed through Daken's veins... and then shame, at what he'd just asked his child, at what he'd accused her of doing. “She just... thinks we're at the school right now.”

Before Daken could say anything – indeed, before he could muster the force to – Lee spoke. She'd kept silent throughout the exchange – all the X-Men had kept silent – but now she spoke. “Jean, what the _hell_.”

The woman turned her face in Lee's direction; Daken stared at his child's set, angry features. He didn't know what to do. “It's all right, Jubilation,” said Grey. “No one got hurt. Laura's _fine_.”

Again, Eike's heart skipped a beat, guilt on her features, and she clutched at Grey's arm.

“We'll see,” Lee said, her voice filled with a fury that appeared to be barely held together. “Now take the pup and get back to the school, Jean.”

Eike stiffened and Grey said: “No,” quite serenely.

“That's an order –”

“I'm not on your team, Jubilation.” Grey spoke coldly. “I want to stay, and I will. You can send the 'pup' back on her own, if you like, but she'll just come back.”

“ _Fine_.” Lee's voice could have cut through the air. She walked closer and Daken could finally see her face, so focused had he been on his child to even glance at her.

It Lee had looked at him like that, fangs out and a terrible snarl on her face, he'd have obeyed immediately.

Lee addressed Eike. “You heard me. Back to the school, now.”

“No.” Eike clenched her teeth.

“Kid, we've got no time for this.”

“I ain't no _kid_ ,” Eike spat, shifting to a fighting stance, as if she really were about to _attack_ Lee. Alarmed, Daken moved closer. Eike didn't deign him of a glance. “And you're right, there's no time. So why don't we freaking go in there?”

“I _understand_ you're hurting,” Lee said firmly. “Which is why you can't stay here. We have to go in there now, and you need to get back and promise you'll stay –”

“No!” Eike snarled, and _lunged_.

But she hadn't unsheathed her claws. She merely tried to hit Lee, but failed... only a strange mist was now in front of her: the vampire had disappeared.

Lee's voice came from the mist. “Daken, deal with your daughter.” Shaking himself from his stupor, Daken reached them.

Eike wouldn't look at him.

“Go back to the school, Eike.”

“No.”

“Eike –”

“No!”

Daken tried to grab her arm, but Eike shapeshifted it thinner and moved gracefully aside. Daken stumbled after her on the snow, but couldn't catch her.

“It's for your own protection –”

“I can protect myself!” Eike cried out, but the truth was that she couldn't, she was his child and she was hurting and _couldn't_ protect herself, it was Daken's duty, and he'd failed, God, he'd _failed_ , he'd –

“You _will_ do _as I say!_ ” shouted Daken.

Eike stiffened and Daken managed to grab her arm, and oh, now she _did_ look at Daken, and there was such hurt and betrayal in her eyes that Daken felt nauseous.

“Pheromones, papa?” she spat, and Daken froze, because he hadn't meant to exude them – he shut them down. They didn't even work on Eike, it would have been pointless even if he'd used them on purpose... but Eike had to _see_ , she had to understand that she had to leave, because if she saw where the clones had been kept, that would hurt her like nothing else had ever had –

Bile surged up his throat. Eike had already been hurt beyond repair; seeing the clones' prison wouldn't hurt her like that, and it was insulting to make such a comparison. But still, it _would_ hurt her.

Eike was staring up at him, nothing but disdain in her eyes – disdain and broken trust. “I'm not some third rate _thug_ that tries to gain power,” she snarled, “I'm your daughter. And you would try to _control_ me like a subordinate that doesn't know their place?”

“That's not what I'm –”

“You used your pheromones! And they weren't freaking _calming_ pheromones, papa, I can smell the difference!” Eike shapeshifted her arm to retreat into her shoulder, then stepped back and regrew it. The whole motion had been so quick – her words still clanging in Daken's brain, he hadn't _meant_ to try to control Eike – that Daken could only stare stupidly at his furious, hurting, amazing daughter.

She had every right to be angry.

But she couldn't get into the facility. There was that door in there, her future codename emblazoned on it like a death sentence.

Perhaps it was Daken's own.

“Please go,” he murmured, defeated, exhausted, but his daughter looked at him with no understanding, no mercy.

“No,” she snarled, and then her eyes shifted to Daken's right, a slight look of alarm on her face.

“I can just send her away with a spell.” The quiet suggestion was Kaplan's; Daken didn't turn to look at the sorcerer.

“No. I won't _force_ her.”

Eike's gaze softened infinitesimally. “Bit too late, papa.”

“Eike, please –”

“Time's up.” Lee interrupted them, and he could smell why; Iceman and Rogue were back from scouting the facility. The latter let out an exclamation, probably at seeing Eike. The vampire, now solid again, walked between him and his daughter, a scowl on her face. “You have no respect for those who care about you, child. You want to come? Be my guest, but don't come running to me if that's too much for you.”

“ _Lee,_ ” Daken snapped. “That's quite enough.”

But Eike merely nodded at the woman – nothing on her features showed shock or hurt at the words. She just walked away, to Grey; and Lee went to listen to Iceman's and Rogue's account.

Daken stood where he was for a moment... unwilling, _unable_ to watch his child, to face the X-Men, to see Grey without attacking her. He stood, the biting cold hurting his face, and he was glad for the darkness that gnawed at him without betraying his expression to the others. He was glad, because it hid the grimace, the hand closing around his heart and _squeezing_ and the red face swallowing, swallowing him whole –

Warmth, and light.

A hand touched his shoulder, delicate, hesitant; a steady heartbeat lulled in his ears. Daken sighed and turned, Quentin's worried face a torch in the night, his flames engulfing them both and keeping Daken anchored to the earth beneath him.

It was freezing, and he couldn't stand it, but now it was bearable. It was beautiful and terrible, how Quentin could hold him together; how he could look at Daken and see something worth the pain Daken caused. How he could see past all he'd done and still want to stand beside him with that inexorable certainty – to the point of panicking at the idea of losing Daken, of harming him.

He'd ended up hurting Daken _because_ of it, a snake chasing its tail; and such horror had resounded in his voice, had shown in his eyes as he realized what he'd done, as he realized having forced himself upon Daken... He'd fled to protect Daken from himself; and then he'd come back, still hurting, but with a new resolution in his eyes, a light so bright that blazed Daken's mind; a diamond steadying Daken's course, just above the horizon.

That resolution could only mean one thing.

He surely meant to leave, to protect Daken.

And yet, and still, he couldn't help himself and here he stood, a last crutch, in a desperate attempt to keep Daken upright for a little while longer. He meant to leave, and it shouldn't hurt this much; Daken had always known it would end. Not now, not when he needed Quentin the most, but he would accept it. He'd accepted it when he'd seen Quentin enter the laboratory – so breathtaking, so adamant.

He wanted to tell Quentin that it didn't matter. He wanted to tell him that his horror only rendered him more trustworthy, he wanted to tell him that he forgave the horrible transgression because Quentin had stopped – not quite _immediately_ , and Daken had had to use his pheromones, but still, Quentin had controlled himself: because he wasn't an animal, because he was hurting Daken and he'd realized and he'd _stopped._

He wanted to tell Quentin that he couldn't leave, not now, not when Daken ached, the sweetest syllables on his tongue when he looked at Quentin – but ending it now was only right.

Ending it now would make his death easier on Quentin.

It had never felt nearer and realer than when Quentin himself had evoked it; it had been a painful reminder that it _was_ coming.

If Quentin wanted to stop – and he surely did; there was no other explanation for the resolution in his eyes – then Daken would step aside. He would do what he could still do for his children – for Eike, that was hurting because of him; for Maiko, whom he'd abandoned on that damn island. He'd do that, and wait – wait for the end.

Quentin held out his hand, and Daken took it. There was no need for words.

The knowledge that it was about to end – that Quentin would leave him once they returned to the school – lingered between their linked hands.

They joined the assembled X-Men; Eike was listening intently, eagerness on her face. Rogue and Iceman were explaining how they'd found the entrance, left wide open as if the facility had been abandoned quickly; they'd even began scouting it, finding no trace of human presence.

The group then moved quickly on the snow, led by Rogue, who flew ahead of them. Daken positioned himself in the rearguard to keep an eye on Eike, who was at the center and refused to look his way. Quentin flew beside Daken, silent, his flames kept to a minimum, while Grey was at the vanguard. Quentin appeared to be wary of the woman, his eyes shifting uncomfortably when he looked at her directly. He'd swayed on his feet when Grey had arrived with Eike; something was surely wrong.

The facility was in a little valley between two looming mountains, its entrance the only thing visible in the snow; the structure appeared to be mostly underground. When they were at a few yards from it Quentin visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh as if a terrible weight had been lifted off of his shoulders; half a beat later, Grey stopped dead in her tracks, and Eike tugged at her cloak.

“J-Jean,” her voice was quiet, and almost scared. Daken furrowed his brows and walked up the line.

“– too,” Grey was saying in a hushed whisper, “So it's all right, Eike.”

“What?” demanded Lee as they broke formation at the entrance. Rogue was floating above it, ready to lead them inside. Eike turned to look at the vampire.

“Jean can't see,” she said simply. Before anyone could ask what she meant, Quentin inhaled sharply and got closer to Grey.

“There's a shield here,” he explained, a grimace on his face, “Telepathy won't work. And Jean – ah –”

“I use others' eyes,” said the woman. “Since I can't use my _own_.” Her voice dripped with venom and Quentin winced.

“Very well.” Rubbing the heel of her palm against the injured eye, Lee sighed. “I guess telling you to stay here and wait for us –”

“– isn't an option,” Grey said firmly. “I can walk, Jubilation, don't worry.”

“Yeah, I'll help her.” Eike grabbed at Grey's arm.

Lee nodded, then addressed them all. “Okay, people, we're going in. There's three corridors; we'll split and cover the ground. Since we can't communicate telepathically, I want you all to keep your phones at the ready. If you find something, report. If you find some trouble, teleport immediately. We'll regroup here in half a hour – don't waste time, I want you all _focused_.” She looked sternly at Daken, then at Eike. “Do I need to put you two in different teams?”

Before Daken could say anything, Eike grimaced, her feelings on the matter pretty clear. Daken steeled himself. He could survive it; it was to be expected. Eike simply didn't trust him right now.

“All right.” Lee sighed. “Rogue? Rogue's fine for you, Eike? Yes?” She didn't wait for an answer, just motioned at the floating woman. “Anne-Marie, go with your sister. Keep her out of trouble, please.”

“On it.” Rogue smiled at Eike, and got just a slightly friendlier look in return. Then Eike shuffled and turned into himself.

“... okay.” Lee furrowed her brows. It was difficult to discern a reason for Eike's changes – he simply went with what felt right at the time, he'd tried to explain – but this one was pretty obvious: he fervently hoped he'd find clones, so he wanted to show them a familiar face. “Keep him out of trouble,” amended Lee, then she turned her attention to the rest of them. “Billy and Colossus with me, Robert with Daken and Quentin. All clear?” They nodded. “Good. Robert, you said the administrative area is here, right?” she pointed to the left and Iceman nodded. “Good, you take that. Rogue?”

“The middle corridor looks safe.” The way Rogue emphasized the last word led Daken to believe it was code for ' _not leading to the clones' cells'_. It was obvious the X-Men still wanted to spare both Eike and Daken such a sight.

“Very well, you take that one.” Lee motioned to get inside. “Let's get to work, people.”

They got to work.

Daken didn't allow himself to linger on Eike's distrust any longer; they had to stay focused. He followed Iceman down the corridor on the left, Quentin a reassuring presence beside him.

But it was _freezing_ , even more than outside. He hated it. The heating had obviously been shut down as the facility was abandoned and the open entrance had exacerbated the biting cold. Because of the latter, he'd thought they could find some wild animal inside, but he smelt no such presence; the local wildlife had probably learnt the hard way to steer clear of the facility. Maybe they'd even been used for experiments –

And he was back to the horrible cold, to another facility, other wildlife, to wolves snarling and attacking Logan when he was no more than an animal – to blood and vomit on the snow, Logan a passed-out puppet over the beasts' corpses as Romulus –

No. No. Oh, no, no, not now.

_Yamete, aishiteru, yamete, yamete –_

As Romulus –

No, oh no. He couldn't breathe, he was shaking, he couldn't –

“ _Hey_.” _Quentin_. Quentin was gently shaking him by the shoulders. “Daken. Are you okay?”

“ _Ah_.” Daken cried out, and grabbed Quentin's arm. Quentin. _Quentin_. Quentin was solid and warm and real and was _here_ and he'd _stopped_ , and Romulus was dead, could never hurt him again, _never_ ; he had to keep it together, find something and leave this wretched place. This _wasn't_ Weapon X, and he _had_ to keep it together.

“Daken?” Quentin's voice was so soft; his gaze filled with worry.

Daken shook his head and attempted a smile; he felt his rigid muscles turn it into a grimace, but shook his head again. “Fine. I'm fine. I don't like this place, it's all.”

“Yeah, it does give the creeps, doesn't it?” Iceman's comment was welcome; it was an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, and it bordered on clumsy, but it went to remind Daken that he wasn't _alone_. There wasn't just Quentin by his side – he had the X-Men too, and when Quentin would leave him, at least he wouldn't remain alone; the bonds he'd formed at the school were strangely comforting.

“Quite.” Daken nodded at the man, then offered another smile to Quentin, and this time he managed it. Hesitantly, Quentin let go of him; and they turned to follow Iceman down the corridor.

The first thing they found was that damn door.

 _RAZE Developmental Department_ , it said, and Daken shoved his way past Iceman in a desperate attempt to get it over with as soon as possible. The room was in a state of disarray, having obviously been left in a hurry; the desks wiped out of everything. They would find nothing there. No document, no proof, _nothing_. Nothing to help him, nothing, no clones, just that damn name, twisting his child into something else –

He let himself fall on a chair and allowed himself to vocalize his despair, emitting a short lament once again interrupted by Quentin's blessed touch on his shoulder. He looked up, found the man's concerned gaze, and it made it almost easier to breathe, easier to think.

Iceman cleared his throat. “Come on, it's just the first room. We'll –”

“They can't have been so stupid.” Daken's voice was hoarse. “We were idiots to think we'd find anything. _I_ was an idiot –”

“Daken –”

“As if it could be solved –”

“Daken.” Quentin shook him. “This isn't about what is or isn't in this room, is it?” And he cocked his head – towards the door. “It's the name, isn't it?”

He should have expected that Quentin remembered.

Daken nodded.

“Uhm, meaning?” Iceman shifted on his feet.

“Raze.” Quentin turned to look at the man. “It's Eike's future codename. You don't remember? He came from the future. He tried to send... the Original Five home. And then he attacked the school again, when Daken was staying with us.”

Iceman's expression would have been comical, his mouth opening in a small “o” of surprise, had Daken found it in himself to be amused by something. “Oh, oh, yes!” Iceman twirled around. “Yes, you're right! Raze. Hey, in my defense,” he turned to look at Daken, “It was ages ago. Yes, didn't he come with Charles, and Jean, and –” he grimaced. “Jubilation died.”

Daken's heart skipped a beat. Died? How could she have died, if she was alive now? Had the past been changed? Or – “Is that how she became a vampire?”

“No, I mean _our_ Jubilation. From our present. The one who's with us now. She came back, and me, and Quentin, to try to stop them.” And Daken hadn't been there to stop his child from playing with the time stream, because he was probably _dead already_. “And she died.” Iceman's voice got very cold and his eyes just as hard, as if an additional layer of ice had grown over them. Then he shrugged. “Doesn't matter. The future can change.”

His voice was so forcefully cheerful now, and he didn't notice Quentin stiffening at the mere thought, his irrational fear coming to haunt him yet again; nor did the two men notice _Daken's_ stiffening, the concept one he didn't even want to consider. If Lee had to be sacrificed for his peace of mind, then so be it: she would die.

And Eike, too, hadn't tried to change his future. He hadn't told anything past the basics to Daken and Mystique; he'd even worked with _Creed_ , who'd hurt him so much. He'd merely navigated the past, treading carefully to try to adjust the future, only thinking about others – about the entire world, which would apparently fall to ruin – rather than just himself. Daken didn't know how he felt about that. If Eike had managed to change the future he'd come from, it would mean that changing the future _was_ possible.

Daken hoped he'd managed that, hoped he'd gone back to a better world. At the same time, he didn't want such a thing to be possible. He didn't _want_ changing the future to be possible. Because it would mean – God, it would mean –

A cell phone broke the silence; Rogue's voice followed. “Hey, heads-up. I sent Jean and Eike ahead, I'm in a lab now.” A pause. “Looks like a damn torture chamber in here.”

“Roger.” This was Lee's voice. “We're in the living area. Robert?”

Iceman cleared his throat, probably still thinking about what he'd just recalled of the vampire's future. “Huh, the developmental department.”

“Good. Keep moving. And Rogue, don't let them out of your sight.”

“Yeah, boss,” Rogue's voice again. “Don't worry, I'll catch up.”

“She shouldn't leave them on their own,” Daken exploded, but Iceman had already ended the communication; the others hadn't heard him.

But Quentin and Iceman had; they threw him inquisitive glances.

He didn't trust that woman to stay alone with Eike. He simply didn't. Quentin didn't trust her: it was clear something had happened between them when she'd arrived... and then there was the fact that she'd just shrugged when Eike had killed Laura and then had brought him _here_ –

“They'll be fine,” Iceman said, “Hey, Jean's an X-Man, Eike will be _fine_.”

“Jean's _blind_ ,” Quentin winced at saying it. “And we aren't on holiday. Fuck, don't you see he's worried?”

“Okay, calm down there, Quentin.” Iceman held up his free hand, while tapping his staff on the ground, “I get it –”

“You _get_ it?” snapped Quentin, then passed a hand over his face. “Sorry. Look – can you give us a moment?”

Iceman furrowed his brows, then nodded, a grimace on his face, and retraced their steps out of the room. Quentin stood still for a moment –

Daken couldn't move. Why would Quentin want to be left alone with him now? Why now?

Quentin sighed heavily, then moved to stand in front of Daken. There was that fire in his eyes again, that adamant beautiful resolution, and Daken held his breath. Was he going to leave him _now_? Why now _–_ couldn't he wait until they returned to the school at least, as they'd agreed to... just a little while, for a mercy?

But it was for the best. Daken braced himself; he would hear Quentin out, and maybe he should say something horrible in return, something petty to hurt Quentin, so that he wouldn't think back on Daken with fondness – so that he wouldn't care when Daken died. He didn't want to, oh, he didn't want to hurt Quentin with his words, but needs must.

“Look, I -” Quentin played with the cuffs of his costume. “It's not the best time. But I – I know you're worried. About your kid, and –” he shook his head. “Us. I shouldn't have dismissed it like that, I shouldn't have – I shouldn't have silenced you that way...”

“I told you that it didn't matter. You stopped.” The reassurance came out of his mouth before he could stop himself, when twisting what had happened in the lounge would have been the perfect opportunity to hurt Quentin, as he'd just decided. But – God – he couldn't. He didn't want to hurt Quentin. And he _hated_ that Quentin beat himself over what had happened. He'd stopped. He'd _stopped._

Still, Quentin was leaving him in order to protect him. Even if Daken found himself unable to conjure some horribly scathing remark, he should still be able to let this play out –

Except Quentin was apparently determined to surprise him.

“I know!” he blurted out, taking a step towards Daken. “You _told_ me. That's what I'm trying to tell you, I – if you say it's fine, it's _fine_. I can't keep not listening when you tell me it _is_ fine, I need to trust you. I won't ever do that again, Daken, and if I d-d-do, I'll stop. If – if you still trust me – if you still trust me, still trust me to do my best, I will do my best. And stand beside you. Daken, I – I can't promise you everything will solve, with your kid, with us, but I know that I want to be there for you. If you want me to. We'll find everything we can here and we'll get back to the school and you'll talk with your kid and I'll stand beside you, and – I swear, I don't care about your past, only the present –”

He was babbling. He was definitely babbling, he was out of his mind, he didn't know what he was saying. He wasn't –

God, he wasn't leaving. He was –

He was saying he wanted to _stay_. Did he even realized what it meant?

Daken did. He'd seen that expression a million times over, he knew what it meant. He'd provoked it with pheromones, and with sex, and he'd used it a million times and then more, because he could. Because it was useful. Because shattering that look had only hurt him a scant few times, a few faces in a million, and it didn't matter. Because nobody had _ever_ felt it towards him anyway, not really, not without pheromones. Because no, he'd never felt it

(just _once_ )

but now he did, and Quentin felt it back, and it wasn't right, because it wasn't safe, because the right thing to do was break it, destroy it, because Quentin had to not care about him when the time came, but Daken couldn't bring himself to do it. Because he didn't want to hurt Quentin, he'd never wanted to, but he would anyway, _any_ outcome would hurt Quentin, because he was too involved, they both were, why had he been such a fool, _why_ –

Quentin cupped his face. “You're panicking,” he said softly, a touch of green on his cheeks, as if nauseous. Daken realized he was pumping out pheromones; he reined them in. “You don't have to say anything,” Quentin continued, still so achingly softly, a healthier hue on his features now, “I knew it wasn't a good time but I just wanted to tell you I'm here. I'll always be here. And I'll stand beside you, whatever happens. Always.”

“ _Quentin_.” It was a choked sound, that fought its way past the constriction in his chest, his throat. Daken pressed Quentin's hands to his face. He felt – oh – it was too much. Too much, Quentin was all around him, he was all Daken needed to breathe, and it hurt, and it didn't at the same time. Was this what it felt like? It was too much. It was overwhelming. It was, oh, beautiful and terrible.

Quentin looked down at him, his eyes bright like supernovae, soft like the dawn, and it melted, that gaze. His warmth vanquished the horrible coldness of the room; it melted everything away, laser focused and gentle. Maybe it could even heal –

But there came a sound, as if from far, far away. Someone was calling their names, and from the urgency in the voice, it must have been doing so for a while now. Daken came back to his surroundings, saw Quentin blink to awareness, and finally put a name to the voice.

Daken shook his head, lowered Quentin's hands from his face, and looked at the doorway, where Iceman stood, apparently all but ready to pound his staff onto the floor.

The man stopped, embarrassed. “Sorry. I _didn't_ want to interrupt, but we need to get going.”

“Of course.” Daken stood up, his hands still holding Quentin's. They had things to do now. And after – _after_ –

One thing at a time. Daken brought Quentin's hands up, kissed his knuckles, and let them go.

They left the room in silence; Iceman glanced surreptitiously at them just once, and led them past a room he'd already checked to another. It was empty as well, and the one after that was, too; but he wouldn't despair. He refused to. The others could find something, or perhaps they already had. It became a mantra that accompanied him as they entered room after room, the only words echoing in his head now, till they reached an intersection and stopped to ponder where to go.

And in the silence, as Iceman was about to call Lee and Quentin gave him a small smile, Daken heard them.

He heard the howls.

They weren't close, for Quentin and Iceman couldn't hear them. He almost thought he was imagining them, but he wasn't. He took a step in their direction, and another, and another, led by a sudden sense of dread. They weren't animal: they were the kind of sounds that _people_ made when tortured.

Oh, he _knew_ that kind of sound, he knew it intimately. He'd emitted it, and had made others emit it.

Someone, somewhere, in this very building, was being tortured.

He ran, ran, ran, the others behind him, and he could tell when Quentin and Iceman could finally hear, because their heartbeats raced up. He heard Iceman contact Lee, but payed no attention to what was being said, because he was trying to trace the source of the sounds, to navigate the building – trying to recognize the owner of the voice, dread filling his veins.

And when he finally did – when he found the source, when he _saw_ – it was already too late.

His child was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Eike grimaced at hearing aunt Rogue's comment.

“Looks like a damn torture chamber in here.” Yeah, he'd known that aunt Rogue had sent him and Jean away because she'd found something she didn't want Eike to see, but he didn't want to be coddled. He didn't need it. He could face it.

Still, he took Jean by the arm and led her further down the corridor, aunt's voice fading away. “They think I can't handle it,” he muttered, and Jean cocked her head, her steps careful.

“Well, it's difficult to blame them.”

“ _Why_? I'm not a child, I can handle this.”

“You clearly can't.” Jean sighed. “And it's normal, Eike. You don't have to prove anything, you don't have to prove yourself.”

“I'm not.” He was just trying to do _something_. Charlie was right: Eike was being coddled. He was buried away in that tower like a scared little child; Maiko looked at him as if he were something about to explode. Father –

Father was an asshole. Not only did he submit Eike to that goddamn awful self-hatred of his; he projected it upon Eike, and saw an inept child in his place. And then he'd tried to control Eike with those damn pheromones of his: Eike knew that faint pull on one's senses, had seen it work on others. Father hadn't even admitted how fucked up that was, had just clumsily tried to make excuses – and he'd had the gall to act like everything was all right, as if he hadn't just hurt Eike yet again! He'd even accused him of hurting Maiko. How dared he – as if Eike could ever!

And auntie – oh, auntie. She'd looked at him like a stupid little boy who couldn't understand what he was asking for, when he'd demanded to be brought to Alaska with her.

And then her expression had changed. She hadn't expected Eike to stab her.

Mama hadn't, either.

But it was _fine_. It had been a conscious decision. Eike could still smell auntie's blood in his nostrils, and it made his stomach churn, but auntie would be fine. She had a damn healing factor and she would be fine! Eike knew what he was doing. It had been a simple decision, really, once it had become clear that she wouldn't listen to him, that she had every intention of leaving him at the school.

Pleading hadn't worked; so he'd drawn his claws.

Jean had thought it an accident. She'd caught his arm as auntie slid to the floor with vacant eyes and a terrible expression of shock on her face; she'd held Eike close as she tried to reassure him, as she mentioned auntie's healing factor – and Eike had shrugged her off.

He was fine. Auntie would be fine, she wouldn't stare accusingly at him as her body was burnt to ashes; she would wake up, alive and well, and maybe she would scold Eike... but it didn't matter, because she would be fine.

It was different from mama's death, from how his claws had buried themselves in her skull. _It was different._

He was fine.

“Eike, you're hurting me.”

He jumped at hearing Jean's voice, and tried to understand the meaning of her words. Hurting her? How?

Oh. He was clutching madly at her arm. “Sorry.” He let go, and she hummed.

“It's all right.” A slight hesitation; then she said: “Eike. Do you want to talk about –”

“What's there to talk about?” Eike looked around, determined on avoiding any topic she might want to discuss. This wasn't the time. And it was fine. He was _fine_. He located a room they could search and tugged at her arm. “Room to the left, come on.”

He led her to it; on the door was a plaque reciting _RAZE Infirmary_. It appeared they were in for something nasty. Sighing, he entered, Jean in tow.

It hadn't taken long to realize that this corridor wasn't as safe as aunt Rogue had initially thought: after the first rooms, all consisting of offices and always engraved with that acronym (they didn't know what it meant, but aunt Rogue said it was probably the project's name) they'd found a couple of labs, which aunt Rogue was now searching on her own not to upset Eike. And now this, a so called infirmary – it appeared this was the scientific area, where his clones had been tortured and experimented on.

There was one of those horrible surgery tables, like the one he'd been gutted on, and he could see clearly a little blue girl on it, a little blue girl laying still, a little blue girl being vivisected –

He let go of Jean to wrap his arms around himself; he dug his fingers into his flesh. “I'm taking a look, okay?” His voice shook, but Jean didn't comment on it, merely stood where she was as he took some steps into the room.

He needed to calm down. He was safe; the facility was empty. The people that had tortured him were dead and the people that had worked in this place were gone – they weren't here. There was no doctor about to come into the room and strap him to the surgery table, only dust and the echo of his screams – of his clones' screams, he could hear them, see them, _feel_ them –

He grabbed Jean's arm again and fled the room.

He walked fast, his skin crawling, Jean stumbling after him, her voice resounding as if from far away, asking him what was wrong, but he couldn't answer; he had to leave. He had to put as much distance between himself and that infirmary as he could. He walked and walked and walked until he could think again, and then stopped, heavy-breathed, his heart hammering in his ears, and leant against a wall.

He glanced up at Jean; with that helmet, it was impossible to know what she was thinking. She'd wanted to explore the place, not stumble through it, and here she was – she couldn't see a thing, and he'd just made her run like that, with no destination. That must bother her, but she kept her silence about it – just as she always did.

Apart from her jab at Phoenix. Eike winced. God, that had been really uncomfortable to watch. And Eike had wanted to scream at her not to antagonize the man, because it was obvious she wanted a fight, but what if she lost? What if Phoenix beat her and then, as he rummaged through her mind, he saw Eike's secrets? It was bad enough that she wasn't shielding Eike's mind now: it sent his teeth on edge, how freaking _exposed_ he was, especially here. He didn't want to be so exposed in this place of all places, it was plain wrong. At least Phoenix couldn't use his telepathy as well.

It was strange, because some tension had seemed to dissipate from both Phoenix and Jean when they'd been hit by that telepathy-blocking shield. Maybe they'd been shouting at each other's mind? And then they'd been forced to stop.

“Eike,” she said then, her breathing labored behind the mask, “I'm sure we weren't supposed to get this further without Rogue. Let's head back.”

“Why?” Eike bit his lower lip. “I mean, we've made it so far. Let's see what we find?” He glanced around; there were no doors in sight. They seemed to have reached the end of the corridor; he pushed himself off the wall and –

Ah. There _was_ a last door: he'd been leaning on it, and it was different from the others. Whereas the others had been left wide open on their hinges like gaping wounds, this one was closed, and it was one of those heavy types too, complete with retinal scan to be opened. Eike looked around to locate some kind of descriptor, and found _RAZE Source Material_ to its right.

Now wasn't that interesting.

He turned to look at Jean. “I think there's something,” he said. Jean cocked her head to the side.

“What?”

“It says source material here. Maybe it's _my_ genetic material?” According to doctor Broo, they'd taken vaginal and ovarian tissue. His cock twitched at the thought; determined on _not_ recalling how that particular procedure had gone, Eike turned towards the door again. “It's closed, though. Restricted access.”

“All right. Contact Rogue, have her come here.” Jean took a few hesitant steps and laid her hands on the wall, feeling it till she found the door. “This one?”

“Mh-mh.” Eike shoved his hand in his pocket and retrieved his cell phone; when he saw the screen, he grimaced. “Uhhh – it's a dead zone.”

“Maybe we're under the mountain. How far did we go exactly?”

“No idea.” Eike looked at her. “Can't you, like –”

“What?”

“With the telekinesis? If we go back and retrieve aunt Rogue and come back here, it'll take forever.”

“I can certainly try.” Well, it hadn't taken much to convince her – just as it hadn't taken that much when he'd contacted her in Madripoor and asked her how did she feel about a trip to Alaska.

Jean took a couple of steps back.

Damn, seeing her work was something else. She didn't even move, just _stood_ there. There was a purplish glow: soft tendrils of power caressed the door, insinuating between the minimal interstices – and then there was a clicking sound and it opened, just like that.

Honestly, telekinesis was _awesome_.

Eike slipped inside immediately, his nose wrinkling as a horrible stink hit his nostrils. The lights were off; as he searched the wall for the switch he was joined by Jean, her steps light and careful.

Then the door closed.

“Ominous,” Jean commented, but there was dry hilarity in her voice, so Eike dismissed it. The door must have an automatic closing; Jean could simply open it again.

It was completely dark, and he still couldn't locate the switch; maybe it was further down the wall. His vision was already adapting, but he shapeshifted his eyes to something more appropriate, for good measure: he multiplied the rods in his eyes, and added a tapetum lucidum.

And he found himself staring directly at freaking gashes on the wall. It was _covered_ with them, and the door was, too.

They looked like claw marks.

Turning around, his heart beating wildly, Eike took in the room for the first time: everything – mostly tables and drawers – was upside down and there was a huge vertical glass tube, secured to the floor and the ceiling... but it was broken: pieces of glass and some sort of dried liquid were on the floor. The strange substance looked like gelly. There was a lot of shit on the floor, too – the stink came from it.

Had someone been kept in there? ' _Source material'_ – a clone prime, maybe? Was this her cell? Those gashes on the wall, had she made them?

Eike took a few steps into the room. Jean was still near the wall, waiting for him to tell her what did he see. Her heartbeat was strange, though. Six frantic thumps, then one drowned by the others, six, one drowned, six, one drowned –

Oh, God.

It was two heartbeats.

They weren't alone.

 _Jean_ was calm and _the other person_ , stuck in the room with them, was agitated and oh, fuck, had a clone been left here? She must be terrified!

“Hey,” Eike called into the darkness, desperately trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring. “It's fine, we're friends, we won't hurt –”

A shadow moved from a corner, and was on Jean before Eike could finish his sentence, slamming her against the wall. There was a _clang_ and Jean slumped to the floor, and the figure bent down on Jean with a horrible guttural growl, and Eike rushed over to them, grabbed the figure's shoulder

_(it was too big to be a child)_

and pulled at it, shouting: “We're friends! We're _friends_!”

And the figure turned around and snarled, like an animal that is kept from its prey, her – _his_ – fangs long, and he was emaciated, looked _hungry_ –

A man. It wasn't a clone, it wasn't a scared little girl, it was a full grown man...

_and his face had haunted Eike's nightmares for eight years._

Eike couldn't breathe.

 _No. No no no no_ no –

The stench, the stench was in his nostrils, and the laughter in his ears, and those teeth –

_were about to sink into Jean_

Eike couldn't _move_ , his muscles still despite his nerves screaming to move, move, _move_. The animal lunged and it was, God, it was above him, Eike was _down_ , the animal was pressed against him, God, it was _, it was..._

 _thrusting_ _inside nem_

growling

_laughing, laughing, laughing_

sniffing

 _panting_ , _moaning_

stopping, wide-eyed above Eike, sniffing again, chapped lips moving, breath hot and rotten, raw voice rasping: “Eike?”

It knew his name. It knew his name, it _recognized_ him, and it was moving away now, away from Eike, moving towards –

_Jean. Protect Jean!_

Eike

_wrapped nir little legs around the animal_

grew the longest, thickest tail he could without decreasing his mass too much and launched it at the animal, wrapped it around the animal, slammed the animal onto the floor,

_launched nemself up, claws unsheathing, stabbed the animal in the chest_

his skin was touching the naked animal's and it _burnt_ , the contact, it made him want to retch, but the animal was skinny and weak and Eike _squeezed_ , squeezed his tail around the animal, squeezed hard, harder, _harder_ , thighs shaking with the strain, grunting, laughing, crying,

_stabbed the animal in the face, he was howling, trying to shake himself free_

contorting on the floor as if he were fucking masturbating and the tail was his cock and oh fuck, he was hard! It was hilarious, it was

_stabbed the animal in the neck, blood spraying over nem, ne was drenched in blood_

fun-fucking-tastic, better than an orgasm, all those bones breaking, yes, oh oh _oh_

_stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed_

and maybe he _should_ touch himself, it would be appropriate to climax while killing the animal, wouldn't it? It would be

_the animal fell on nem, heavy, so heavy, and not breathing, dead, a dead thing inside nem_

_disgusting_. Eike stopped squeezing, the thought so vile it made vomit rush up his mouth; it would taint him, it was horrifying, it would _taint it._ He could never touch himself again. He wouldn't let the animal take that away from him as well. It was bad enough he couldn't touch _herself_.

Eike lay panting, listening to the animal's rasping breath, to Jean's heartbeat. Jean was alive. She'd probably passed out – had she hit her head? Would she wake up? He would stay trapped with the animal if she didn't wake up.

But the X-Men would find them, surely? They would find them. He just had to wait.

Wait with the animal.

He should just kill the animal.

But – the animal couldn't even move.

Eike propped himself up on his elbows and looked at the figure he was holding down.

To think he'd been so terrified! This was a skeleton, a fragile thing. It stank of rotting flesh and shook like a terrified little animal.

“Eike,” it spoke, the animal, and Eike wanted to scrub himself, he couldn't bear to hear his name spoken by that thing. “Eike, son, please,” it had the gall to say, and Eike growled. Son? How _dare_ it? “Let me explain –” _Explain?_

Eike laughed. It was just too hilarious: explain? Explain _what_?

“I'm going to kill you,” he choked out, tears of laughter streaming down his face. _Sure. Laughter._

“Heh. Ye're strong enough.” The animal tried to move, but it was a weak attempt; and Eike kept his tail firmly wrapped around it, immobilizing it. “Eike. Ye know why yer named like that?”

 _'What does my name mean, papa?'_ Eike had asked, once, and father had sighed and said that mother had chosen it, and that he'd had no say in the matter. He hadn't known. He'd explained the meaning of the name, yes – edge of a blade – but that was it.

Eike's mouth was dry. “Why?”

“Yer a blade,” the animal rasped, “A sharp blade to do great things, Raven said.”

So mother had always thought to use him. Big surprise.

“I liked it,” the animal said, “Nice name. I told her, _Okay_ . And she said, _Oh, I'm not asking ye. I'll name him as I please_. Always like that, she was. But she smiled.”

He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to hear how his name had been chosen by mother and the animal. And father had just _accepted_ the name, not knowing this. He didn't want to hear how much the animal _liked_ his name.

It made his skin crawl, his blood boil. It disgusted him.

“When – when I heard – ” the animal continued, voice rasping in the dark room, “When I heard that was yer name, I thought she was mockin' me. She'd left me and she had a son with Daken – Daken!” it coughed, “And she named ye like that? The name for _our_ kid? I hated her. I –”

“Should I care?” spat Eike. He sat up. What did the animal think it was doing? Was it trying to appeal to Eike or some shit? After what it had _done_ to him?

“Ten years – in a prison. She left me there – couldn't get out – and Daken. The little fucker – he put me in there. They had to –” The animal winced. “I didn't know. I didn't _know_ , Eike. If I'd known, if I'd _known_ , I wouldn't have –”

Oh God, it was apologizing. A fucked up version of it, at least. It was fucking _apologizing_ to Eike.

“What?” Eike wrapped his arms around his legs, dug his fingers into his thighs. “Sold me? R-raped me?” He shuddered and pushed harder into his flesh, and smelt his own blood. Bruises would heal. Wounds would heal. “I'm so _relieved_ now that I know that you wouldn't have r-raped me to punish my parents if you'd known that some of your sperm contributed to create me,” he hissed the words through gritted teeth.

“I –” the animal just couldn't take the fucking hint. “I just wish –”

“ _What_ ?” spat Eike, “You hadn't done it? Hey, so do I! You want a hug? My forgiveness? You won't have it! What do you _want_ from me?”

“I wanted to raise ye!” the animal said, and oh, that was horrifying, _that_ had made his skin crawl more than once ever since knowing the animal was his second father. The mere thought it could have been an option made him want to vomit. “I got no chance, it ain't my fault Raven played her games! It was my turn, ye were _our_ second chance! But she went and chose the slightly saner option? What of me? What of _us_?”

God, it was deranged. He couldn't keep listening to this fucking monster and keep his sanity. And yet he couldn't not answer, because really, _raise_ him? How pitiable. He wanted to shatter the animal, crush its mind before its body. He wanted to _hurt_ it before he killed it.

“You could have _never_ been my father,” he snarled. “You are _not_ my father. You aren't even human! You're just a monster. A _beast_ that goes around raping people and mama would have never let you near me, papa would have never let the likes of you touch me!”

“Oh yes,” the animal spat, sudden venom in its voice, “Because Daken's such a good person, innit? A paragon of _virtue_. Not like me.”

“Exactly,” growled Eike. “You? Maybe you could have been the weird uncle that's permitted to sing a lullaby while kept under close surveillance. Maybe from behind _bars_ , like the animal you are.”

The animal growled and, even if it couldn't harm him, even if it was restrained, Eike was scared again, a scared little kid in a cold horrible facility. “I ain't no animal.”

“Yes you _are_.” Eike fought to keep his voice clear, but it faltered. He was shaking, and he didn't know if it was fear or rage. He didn't _have_ to listen to the animal's ramblings. He could end it _now_.

“I ain't. If she'd given me the fucking chance to prove –”

“You're a beast! You didn't _deserve_ a chance!” spat Eike.

“Daken _got_ a second chance! Why him and not –”

“ _Don't compare yourself to him!_ ” Eike got to his feet. He could, he should, he _must_ end it now. “Don't you dare! You're a fucking _rapist_! A monster! A –”

Was the animal _laughing_?

It _was_ , breathy fits mingled with whistling coughs, as if all this were oh so damn hilarious. It was insane and it was deranged and it was dangerous, a monster, an animal –

“Just _how_ ,” the animal choked out, “do ye think pheromones work?”

Eike froze.

What was it implying? What was it _saying_?

He didn't answer, blood frozen in his veins, his tail still.

“Didn't ever think o' that?” rasped the animal, “Never noticed somethin' strange? People throwin' themselves at yer _papa's_ feet, literally _beggin'_ to be fucked? Seen it happen a couple times. He don't do that anymore? Maybe not around _you_ –”

Eike felt his lips curl in a snarl, closed his hands into fists, the claws itching to come out. _I will torture you._ _Oh, I will_ torture _you for this_ –

“Maybe he don't break their arms, maybe he don't _immobilize_ them, but that sound like rape to me. Not that he thinks that, oh no, he _hates_ rapists –” it broke off to cough.

“How dare you.” Eike was shaking, there wasn't a single cell in his body that wasn't shaking, body rippling, shifting, nerves _screaming_ at the insult, at the horrifying _lie_. “How _dare_ you. How – I –” He gritted his teeth. “I'm going to kill you.” And he squeezed, squeezed his tail, as hard as he could...

Oh but this _wasn't_ enough, crushing its body wasn't enough. He wanted to hurt it, to make it pay for those words, how dare it, how _dare_ it –

“Wait – _wait_!” it wailed, like the pitiful little thing it was. Something shifted inside Eike, something filled with obscene glee at the sound.

He had the power here. _He had the power here_ : the animal was small and helpless and doomed.

He felt eerily calm, a strange sort of quiet had descended upon him, and he stopped – a mockery of mercy.

The animal whimpered. “Sorry. Sorry for that, I didn't mean that, I want to help, please, I've come back to help...”

“Help?” Eike walked closer, loomed over the animal. “How kind of you. Help with what?”

“The girls,” the animal shuddered inside the cocoon that was Eike's tail. “My girls, all eternity feelin' them, feelin' what they _did_ to them, every single one of them, every _cut, I'm sorry_ –” Poor little thing. Every cut? Oh, he hadn't felt quite _every_ cut yet, not really.

Eike would take care of that.

“What a doting father.” It talked about Eike's sisters as if they were its daughters: it was disgusting. He nudged the animal's feet, considered the animal's weight. It was all skin and bones: Eike should manage to held it satisfactorily if he shapeshifted his feet as well. His hands needed to stay free, after all. “You escaped hell to find my clones?”

“Yes –”

“But you couldn't find them.”

“My body was _here_! I tried to leave, but they were gone, there was no one –”

“Mh-mh.” Eike cocked his head to the side. Should he sit, or better stay up? He didn't want his costume to be tainted by the animal's blood.

Oh, how silly of him. He could shapeshift it into his body.

He did.

There was a primeval taste to this. Like a holy rite of old; it was visceral and good, and the anticipation made him shiver. _You'll pay. You'll pay for what you did. Every single thing they did to me. You'll feel every single one._

 _Apart from that which_ you _did_. _I'm not an animal like you_. He turned into nemself – the first time in eight years ne did it wittingly. It felt... right: ne would do this in the form ne'd been born with, in the form ne'd never worn afterwards, too disgusted by nir body to see it, touch it, wear it. This would be – ah – a purification, of sorts.

And ne would emerge from it, different and clean. _Clean_ , at last –

“Any last words?” ne asked casually. Ne stretched and shapeshifted, took a hold of its feet as nir tail held its arms up.

“What? No! I told ye, I want to help –”

“Don't need your help.” Nir bones elongated; nir muscles grew, tumor-like and heavy.

“Help them –”

“Far better off without you.” Ne felt, oh, like a balloon, so light –

“Ye ain't like this! I _watched_ ye, I could see ye, ye –”

Far from the right thing to say. Shivers rippled through nir body, both at the chilling words and at the strain – ne hadn't ever changed so thoroughly. “Then you've seen me kill _Raven_.” Ne pulled and pushed experimentally, and that elicited a gurgle. “Didn't it teach you anything?”

No answer. Ah, well, it couldn't answer: such interesting sounds it was making instead.

“ _Stay the hell away from me_.” Ne uncoiled nir neck and watched the animal from above, all spread and ready to be mauled. Nh – nir vision was a little blurry. Ne increased nir eyeballs' mass to see better. “In fact, stay _in_ hell. That's your place. And tell that to mama too. I just _bet_ she's in there.” The last words were a low rasp, nir vocal chords stretching too thin to form coherent sounds anymore.

The last changes settled in, nir body stopped rippling. Ne thought ne should be able to hold it. Now, to actually _begin_ –

But oh, ne'd really prettied nemself up just for the occasion, and the animal couldn't even see nem! That was easily solvable, though. Ne started emitting luciferin and luciferase, so that ne could glow in the dark. It would be a _shame_ for the animal not to see what was happening, what would _be_ of its body. Oh, how ne hoped the animal would stay conscious for at least some part of it...

The look on the animal's face – ah, ne would remember it till ne _lived_.

“Eike –” it prayed, one last time, and ne snapped nir jaws. Ne couldn't speak anymore – ne couldn't tell it how much ne hated it, how much ne was going to enjoy this.

But ne didn't need to speak for the message to come loud and clear.

Ne unsheathed nir claws.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “I told you,” said Eike slowly, “to stop calling me that.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions run high, and nothing will ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's going to hurt. Once again, I can only offer reassurances that this story isn't going to end in tears. Pinky promise.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings** : verbal and physical abuse; discussions of rape.

24.

“I know I seem shaky,  
These hands not fit for holding;  
But if you let me, oh, I will see you right. 

Tell me I will be released -  
Not sure I can deal with this.  
Up all night again this week,  
Breaking things that I should keep.”

Florence + the Machine – _Hiding_

 

 

The screams had stopped.

It was far worse, because that could only mean one thing – and Jean and Eike were still nowhere to be found.

They'd been joined by Rogue first, _alone_ – Daken, pale and wide-eyed with worry, had grabbed her by an arm when she'd reached them, and had proceeded to shake her quite violently and ask about his child. Rogue bore the attack without a word of protest, evidently blaming herself as well, as those screams of unknown origin echoed around them. When Daken had finally let go of her, she's said she'd tried to contact the pair already, but to no avail.

They'd coordinated themselves with Jubilation, Colossus and Billy and finally joined them at an intersection, where they'd found Billy casting – a locator spell, it turned out, and they followed its pale light through the corridors, those screams getting weaker, the pauses between them longer –

And now they'd stopped altogether, only heavy silence reigned, and Daken was running after that spell as if his life depended on it, and wasn't it so? His child was gone and hearing those screams in this place didn't allow to hope for the best.

Finally Daken came to a halt, and Quentin took flight to reach him first. Daken spared him only a terrified glance; then he began pounding on a door, calling his child's name with all the air in his body. It was utterly painful to see him like this – straining with panic, shaking, voice raw and pleading, palms falling heavily on that door –

Quentin got closer, spoke softly. “Let me open the door.”

Daken stopped and turned, eyes feverish and frantic and not quite seeing him, and Quentin reached out and cupped his face. “I can open it. Move away.”

There was such naked relief, such _gratitude_ on Daken's face, that Quentin felt almost nauseous.

Still, he willed his features to be nothing but reassuring, and Daken moved away, his red palms lingering on the door. He only retreated a few steps behind Quentin, and Quentin wasted a few precious seconds to allow at least Robert and Colossus to reach them, in case the room contained foes that the thermals hadn't shown, ready to bounce on them – but Daken didn't protest, only waited, breath slowly quietening as he readied himself for what was to come.

There was no time for finesse, so Quentin unhinged the door and compressed it to a fuming ball that would be scorching hot to the touch, then sent it rolling away.

They waited a second – Daken's restraint was almost palpable, the air filled with terror – but no attack came from the shadows of the room. Still, anyone could be waiting –

But Daken had already run out of tactical caution. “Eike!” he called, running past Quentin directly into the room, and Quentin followed, heart thumping loudly. He felt the others behind them, but there was no time, nor need, for coordination of any kind.

Daken reeled to a halt and fell to his knees with a cry; dread filling his veins, Quentin emitted a blaze of flames that would illuminate the area, and saw Jean's prone body in front of Daken. Daken was already back on his feet, having discerned the body wasn't his child's, and was looking around frantically, nostrils wide.

There was a terrible coppery stink.

In fact, blood covered the floor, and had sprayed on a wall too, and it was _fresh_ blood.

“Eike!” Daken reached behind, searched and found and caught Quentin's hand. “I hear a heartbeat, why doesn't he answer, he –” There was a wet, sickening sound, and Daken started and whipped on his heels towards the direction it had come from, eyes wide. “Eike?”

“Don't.” The voice came from a corner, and while it seemed Eike's, it was also – off. Empty.

“Don't what?” The relief was palpable in Daken's, but there was a edge of panic in there, crawling inside Quentin's skin – Quentin shuddered. Daken couldn't be expected to have a firm hold on his pheromones right now. He seemed to have had trouble with it even before coming into the facility, and now the stress must be unbearable. “Eike – are you all right?”

“I told you. Don't.” Monotone, that's what it was. It was a monotone voice.

“Of course.” Daken spoke softly. “Can I come closer?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Daken's grip on Quentin's hand was iron-like. “Can you move? All you all right?”

There was silence, then a shuffling sound. “Yes. I'm great, actually.”

“Good – good to know.” Daken took a heavy breath, then looked at Quentin. “Can Quentin make some more light and –”

“No. Oh, Jean hit her head. Really hard, I think.”

Quentin turned. While they were focused on Eike, the others had come into the room, and Jubilation was on her knees beside Jean; on the other side knelt Robert. Beside them, Rogue was staring hard into the dark corner where Eike apparently stood.

Was it bad that Quentin hadn't spared even a thought for Jean? In truth, he was glad she was out. The walk to the facility had been a nightmare, that faint pull was always at the back of his mind, and he knew Jean had felt her mind act on its own. He'd welcomed the telepathy-blocking shield, and he'd gauged Jean had as well.

Jubilation looked up, towards the dark spot. “Hit her head how?”

“The animal wanted to eat her,” said Eike.

The animal? Some wild beast, perhaps, that had found itself trapped inside the facility?

But – no. Wasn't that how he referred to _Creed?_

Daken stiffened – the same thought must have hit him – and then moved; he took a step towards his son, but Eike beat him to it.

The person emerging from the shadows wasn't Eike, not really. Quentin could recognize his... _her_ features, but they were somehow sharper, much more similar to Daken's than those she usually wore.

Of course, it was difficult to tell, since her face was covered in blood.

Her whole body was. She was naked and covered in blood, and as she walked closer, a tail barely visible behind her, Quentin saw another, far smaller appendage on the front. He frowned as he tried to compute what he was seeing, then winced at his own reaction. This was probably Eike's birth form.

Was the blood nirs? Daken would have been much more upset if he'd smelt Eike's blood, so it stood to reason that it was something – or someone – else's. But – there was so much of it. Too much of it. And it was dripping from Eike's claws as well – and the claws were strangely short, no longer than nir fingers.

“Are you –” Daken's voice wavered.

“Fine. I told you.” Eike smiled. That smile was nightmarish; the contrast between how serene it looked and the emptiness in nir glowing eyes was jarring. And the frame they had, a bloody mask, only made it worse. “It can't hurt me anymore. It's dead.”

“It?”

“The animal,” explained Eike, as if ne were talking to a kid, and again ne smiled. “I made sure of it.”

Creed. Ne was definitely talking about Creed. And those screams... Those screams, had they been _Creed's_?

“But we should burn it, just to be sure,” added Eike, and nir tail brought something out of the shadows.

 _Oh God._ Quentin felt the blood drain from his face.

“I told it to stay in hell,” continued Eike serenely, “but I don't want to risk it trying to get back again. If its soul has nowhere to go to, it'll stay in hell, right?”

Ne was probably addressing Billy now, Quentin thought with detachment, but Billy couldn't answer. None of them could answer, because they were all looking at the _thing_ , at the bloodied mass of flesh and bones and entrails that looked like it had once been a person. A monster, yes, a horrible criminal, who'd done Eike a terrible wrong, but _this_ –

And yet, they had no right to judge. Quentin felt his skin crawl, but – hadn't Creed deserved to die? Hadn't he deserved to suffer, at that? Seeing him must have been a shock to Eike; nir reaction couldn't be put under scrutiny. Quentin felt he had no heart for it.

Daken let go of his hand, and took another step towards his child. “Yes. We'll burn it,” he said, voice soft and reassuring... but Quentin heard the quiver beneath. “He won't hurt you –”

“It.”

“It won't hurt you,” amended Daken, “Ever again. Isn't that so, Wiccan?” There was something dark and almost hysterical in his voice, that gave Quentin pause. What was Daken thinking, seeing his child like that, seeing that unrecognizable corpse, seeing what his child had _done_ – could it be that he saw himself as well... that he saw Romulus, the monster's death something he'd felt he had to deliver himself in order to gain some peace of mind? Was he seeing the other outcome – the one where he destroyed his tormentor, where he made the monster pay?

He'd told Eike that revenge wouldn't accomplish anything, but it was clear he wasn't at peace with that.

Was that dread in his voice? Or was he glad – but it would be terrible, to be glad to see his child like this.

“Yeah.” Billy's hoarse voice came from behind Quentin. “It will certainly make it more difficult. And I'll – put an additional sigil on him.”

“ _It_ ,” Daken corrected him pointedly. “See? We'll take care of it. May I – may I come closer, Eike?”

“I told you,” said Eike slowly, “to stop calling me that.”

“... okay.” Daken raised a hand towards his child. “May I come closer, monkey?” he asked, so very softly, voice so little, so lost; oh, it was unbearable.

Eike tilted nir head, and there was a hesitation, there, the same hesitation of years ago; but then ne nodded.

Daken unzippered his coat as he went, shook it from his shoulders as he reached his child, then lay it hesitantly over the kid's shoulders. Eike stood motionless for a moment, eyes averted from Daken, then caught a hold of the fabric and wrapped it tightly around nemself. Ne spoke no words. Daken seemed about to touch nem, but then he let his hand fall.

It was a terribly private moment; Quentin wanted nothing more than leaving them alone – but Jubilation had no such reservation, her brisk voice resonating in the room after just a few moments of silence... the bare minimum to show some respect.

“We need to go,” she said, and Daken shook himself and nodded, and then glanced at what was left of Creed.

“What about that?” he asked, turning to look at Jubilation. “We're bringing it with us, aren't we?”

Colossus had already put himself at the center of their group. “Yes, I can teleport it.”

They all converged – Robert was carrying Jean in his arms – and Eike was still unmoving, eyes trained ahead, the coat a barrier ne was clutching at for dear life. Ne wasn't looking at any of them – as if they were made of glass, or weren't there. Nor was ne listening to nir father, it appeared: Daken was speaking so gently, telling nem to let go of the corpse... that it was all right, that everything would be all _right –_ his voice broke, and Eike just shook nir head, tail firmly wrapped around the body.

Ne was still like that when the mists vanished and they found themselves in Broo's lab, Colossus having teleported them there; ne kept still when they dispersed, and when Broo came, alerted telepathically by Quentin; ne didn't move even when Laura appeared behind Broo – the woman had holes in her costume, right where her heart should be, but her face was a mask, and then her eyes shone with alarm as she laid them on Daken and Eike.

Quentin moved to the side to make space – not too much, as he didn't want to leave Daken; but this was something he had no right to hear, not really.

Broo went to them first; he ignored the corpse, only a slight grimace signaling what did he think of such sight, and made as if to approach Eike, but Eike shook nir head and spoke for the first time after those agonizing moments. “Jean first. I'm fine.”

“Monkey, are you sure –”

“It didn't lay a finger on me, papa. I'm fine.”

Broo nodded briskly and headed for Jean, who'd been put on a bed by Robert. It was obvious why he'd gone to Eike first: ne was covered in blood – only it wasn't nirs.

And then Laura was beside them, and Eike turned nir head to avoid her gaze. Maybe ne was ashamed of what ne'd done to her, but now wasn't the time to ask for clarifications or apologies and Laura knew that, her eyes assessing the situation quickly. She crossed her arms and looked at Daken, and a silent communication took place between the siblings; then Laura addressed Eike lightly, as if nothing had happened between them.

“Why don't we take a shower? Would you like that?”

Eike started and looked up at her, as if having trouble believing that Laura would _talk_ to nem after what ne'd done.

“I –”

“Let's scrub all that blood away. You must hate it.”

“I'm fine.” Eike lowered nir head. “I want to burn the animal first.”

“He won't –”

“It,” corrected Daken on autopilot, as if that were the only thing he was sure he couldn't do wrong, all the other attempts to connect with Eike having failed.

“It won't go anywhere,” Laura amended smoothly, “And then we can take care of it. Let's get you cleaned up first –”

“No.”

“Eike –”

“ _Stop_ calling me that!” snarled Eike, raising nir head, eyes flashing, “That's what _they_ decided to call me, her and _it_ , I can't use it, I won't use it!” And it was a flood of flashes, something even Charles Xavier would've had trouble to keep out of his mind, so strong were the emotions behind them. It was blood and horror and Quentin closed his own mind, overwhelmed by the horrifying images, by the sheer burning hatred, by Creed's screams and Mystique's bleeding eyes –

Wait. Mystique?

Quentin regained his footing a second before collapsing, the maelstrom having unleashed a mere second earlier; but Daken glanced up – he'd noticed something. Quentin shook his head; he felt a slight nausea, but it was nothing – just the aftereffects of the visions.

Daken returned his attention to his child. “Did it say that?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

“And you don't want to use that name anymore.”

“ _Yes_.” Eike shuddered.

“That's all right. We'll find a new one. But let's get you cleaned up –”

“I _want_ to burn the animal _first_. Can we _please_ get on with it?”

Quentin cleared his throat. “I think Jubilation will want an autopsy –”

“To know what? If I tortured it?” Eike let go of the coat and gestured helplessly behind nem. The motion left the coat hanging open, but ne didn't seem to mind nir nudity at all. “I thought that was obvious.” Ne turned to look at Daken again with pleading eyes. “Papa, please. I – I'd feel much safer if I knew it can't come back. Maybe I made my point, but maybe not –” it was deeply disturbing to hear nem talk about 'making a point', the words having a far sinister meaning, and seeing how calm ne was... but no, ne wasn't calm.

There was a tumult inside nem and ne would soon have a breakdown. Ne needed space, and quiet.

“I'm sure you made your point,” choked out Daken.

Ne shrugged. “Look, if it comes back again, _fine_ , I'll just have to kill it again, but if I can avoid to _see_ it again, that would be fantastic –” and how flippantly he was saying such things! Quentin could see the worry in Daken's eyes – the alarm. Eike was talking about killing as naturally as a murderer – well, as Daken himself.

It was obvious the siblings were trying to find the words to nip this in the bud, and at the same time to be as reassuring and non-judgmental as possible; Daken didn't _want_ this life for his child, and it left Quentin wondering if he felt it was no life – if, behind his self-deprecating words, lay a deep regret for what he was. Maybe, given how often he worried about Quentin's reactions over his past life, such thought wasn't that far from the truth. Did he wonder what his life might have been like? Was he ashamed, even? Quentin had told him that it didn't matter, that none of that mattered, but – hadn't it been presumptuous of him?

And the other things he'd told Daken in that cold, horrid facility – his heart ached at the thought, at the memory of Daken's expression. He'd looked shocked, disbelieving, overwhelmed. Had he understood what Quentin had said between the lines? Oh, of course he had. And it pained Quentin to think that it was maybe the first time in his life that Daken faced those words.

But this wasn't the time for such thoughts. Looking upon Daken's devastated features, Quentin resolved to support him, and the rest would have to wait.

Neither Daken nor Laura had still said anything – and Eike was looking at them, a terrible intense finality in nir eyes – when an anguished voice echoed in the room.

“Eike!” It seemed Maiko's; turning around, Quentin saw her coming towards them, Charles Jr. in tow – the young man was clad in a pajama. They'd been so engrossed, so lost in their little bubble, that they hadn't noticed their teleporting; nor had any X-Men approached to warn they were contacting Madripoor.

Quentin moved out of the way. Maiko took in the blood, Eike's state, the corpse – she was terribly pale.

Something faintly touched Quentin's mind and then proceeded to clumsily create a wall around Eike's. It was probably Charles: the young telepath stood at the edge of the group, worriedly studying both his half-sibling and Jean's unconscious form.

“Eike, oh, _oh_ ,” Maiko kept at a distance not to crowd nem, but it was clear she longed to pull nem into an embrace.

Eike didn't snap like ne had at nir father and aunt, but shook nir head wearily. “I'm fine. And please, don't call me that.”

“Oh?”

“Ne wants to change nir name,” explained Daken, voice light and careful. “Ne – doesn't like it anymore.”

“It should've _never_ been my name.” Eike sniffled. “I don't want anything _they_ chose. I'll choose my own name. I'm a new person now.” Why such animosity towards Mystique as well? Maybe it was due to the doubt she might have known about nir true parentage; that terrible certainty that, if she'd talked, ne might have avoided nir torture – but it wasn't a doubt anymore, was it? Because Creed had all but confirmed it by saying they'd _chosen a name together_ , the bastard.

“Sure you are, monkey.” Maiko smiled hesitantly. “It's a – a family tradition, you know? Changing names.”

Eike frowned. “Is it?” Ne glanced surreptitiously at Laura, a question in nir eyes, but she shook her head.

“No, not me. I kept the name my mother gave me.”

“Then –”

“Me, monkey.” Maiko reached out, dared and managed to do what Daken had feared attempting: she caught Eike's hand, mindful of the half-out claws, and Eike let her. “Maiko isn't the name my biological parents gave me. That girl otousan found – I don't like to think about that part of my life. I changed it shortly afterwards.”

“Oh.” Eike looked at nir sister with wonder. “I – I didn't know.” Ne bit nir lower lip; it seemed ne wanted to inquire further – maybe ne hadn't a clear idea of nir sister's past before Daken had come into her life. But they were surrounded by strangers, and ne asked something else instead: “Why did you choose it?”

She smiled fondly. “It was – a way of thanking otousan. He taught me to fight, you know; and it was all about elegance and grace and being quick enough, like a – a dancer.” Her smile faltered for a moment. “I felt like an apprentice of antique and noble arts, I was so smitten – and grateful that he'd saved me.” She looked at Daken, who seemed terribly touched by her words: a faint sheen clouded his eyes, but he blinked it away. She smiled softly at him. “That's why I chose it.”

The reminiscence had brought a thoughtful look to Eike; perhaps unconsciously, ne'd let go of Creed's corpse, and nir tail now rested on the floor. Maybe, between all of them, with tales and such, they'd manage to lead nem away, to wash nem and have nem rest.

Eike looked at nir father. “And you chose your name to – honor your fathers. Grandpa Akihira, and the old bas–” ne grimaced and broke off. “Logan.”

“... Yes.” The faint hesitation had a dark meaning behind it – there was a third father, there at the edges, in the shadows, that Daken must surely have never mentioned. He probably hadn't even ever explained his tattoo to his children. “It was done in spite, at the beginning – it was how the children in the village used to insult me. I took that label and wore it, so that no one would hurt me with it.”

And he had felt he wasn't _worthy_ of using the name Akihira had given him for so, so long. Quentin caught Daken's gaze, hoping he could sense all that Quentin felt – all his love.

Daken smiled at him. “And then, well, I realized what the name truly meant. I realized a lot of things that day – they didn't came to me all at once, because I'm terribly, terribly stubborn, monkey.” It seemed he was referring to that horrible day, a lifetime ago. The softening of his eyes as he looked at Quentin seemed to imply as much. Had he really had such an epiphany that day? So many things had happened. He'd found his memories again, saved the whole school – left after making sure Quentin was fine after Creed's attack. He'd had with Logan a heart to heart that had left the older man reeling for days – and he'd been touched by it as well.

Daken tore his eyes off Quentin and looked at his child again. Eike was studying both him and Quentin, a furrow in nir brows, but quickly shook nemself.

“I want to honor someone, too,” ne said softly.

They all nodded. Eike looked down, down at nir red hands, and spoke in a murmur. “My clones – my sisters. They have no fault, they're suffering, and I want to honor them. To remind myself to find them. They're my family, too, and I – I feel I need to do it.”

“Of course, monkey.” Maiko squeezed nir hand. “That's a beautiful idea.”

Eike nodded, raised nir head. “So I'm gonna use the name of the project. So those monsters _know_ that I'm coming. I – Raze. I want to use that name. I'm Raze,” ne said with a firm finality, and nir shoulders rose, as if a great burden had been lifted off of them.

It was only because he knew what it meant – because he suspected Daken's fears – that Quentin was able to see the flash of terror in Daken's eyes. The man gave no outward sign of discomfort; maybe his smile looked slightly forced, but Eike wasn't looking at him, and couldn't see.

“That's a good name.” Daken was probably appealing to every ounce of self-control he had, his voice utterly normal – as if Eike had said ne wanted to use a fairly more mundane name like John or Sean. “I like it, monkey.”

“Yeah? I'm glad, papa.” Gone was the hostility from nir voice, as if the horror ne'd just lived through had deleted nir rage and pain at Daken. Maybe it wouldn't last, but it was a blessing that, at least for now, ne could speak plainly with nir father. Eike let go of Maiko's hand and scrubbed nir arms. “I think I might need that shower after all,” ne said softly, weakly, as if the shock was finally getting through to nem, and ne moved –

“Oh, dear, no!” Broo was suddenly beside them, wings quivering. “No, let me do a minor check-up, at least.” He sidestepped Creed's corpse. “I'm mortified I left you waiting this long!”

Eike shook nir head. “There's no need to, doctor,” ne said, real fondness in nir voice. “I'm fine, truly. What about Jean, is she okay?”

Broo tutted. “A minor concussion. Katherine's on it, I can't do anything on my own.” Sure enough, Shadowcat was in the room – when had she arrived? - and was focused on Jean, her hands inside the helmet. “ But let me look at your claws!” continued Broo, “They seem stuck. Do you feel pain?” He reached out, but Eike jerked away, nir eyes wide with what looked like sheer panic.

“ _No_ ,” ne shrieked. “I'm fine, they're –” nir voice died out, and ne looked frantically at Maiko, Charles – the woman's hand had flown to her heart, the kid's face was white. Now, why such a reaction?

Broo reached out again, in a no-nonsense manner. “If you can't retract them –”

“Yeah, I can! Look!” Eike did just that, sheathed them and unsheathed them again – but they still were strangely short. Ne let out a whimper, looking absolutely devastated.

“See?” Broo waved a hand. “Now, let me –”

“They're like this,” choked out Eike, looking anywhere but at anyone's face. “They're like this, it's _fine_.”

“But they're longer,” said Daken. “I remember them.” He had a furrow in his brows, and approached his child carefully. “Like mine and Laura's, they should be –”

“I shapeshift them!” cried out Eike, then slapped a hand over nir mouth. Daken's eyebrows rose, and Maiko –

Maiko looked resigned and slightly hopeful?

“Raze?” It was Laura who spoke, Laura who'd felt those claws pierce her heart not that long ago. “Raze, why –”

Eike lowered nir hand from nir mouth. Ne shook nir head – it wasn't a denial, but a way to clear nir head. Ne shut nir eyes, and ne looked as resigned as nir sister, but also relieved. “I shapeshift them shorter,” ne said flatly, “Every morning. They're safer, this way I only stab who I _want_ to stab. It's to avoid a-accidents.”

It was the way ne said ' _accidents_ ' that finally got to Quentin – the strain in nir voice was unmistakable.

And it was more than unmistakable for Daken and Laura, who knew what it meant to live with those weapons embedded in their bodies.

Daken stepped closer. “An accident, monkey?” His eyes shone with worry, and Eike opened nir eyes, looked at him – ne winced.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you, papa. I just wanted – I didn't want to see it... that face you make. I – I really can't stand it.” Ne grimaced; the hurt on Daken's face was plain. “But this isn't fair,” continued Eike, “It really isn't. I don't like to lie to you – I hate it. I –” ne looked around, past nir sister's proud wavering smile. “Aunt Rogue? Please, can you come here?” ne called out loud, voice shaking.

Daken reached out for Quentin's hand. He was steadying himself for whatever terrible trauma Eike was about to recount, and Quentin felt for him – for Eike, as well. Had ne hurt somebody in Madripoor? Was the poor victim fine? Why had Eike felt the need to hide it –

Why was ne asking for Rogue?

The woman, that was fretting at Jean's side with the others, joined them, a crease in her brow. “Yes, Eike?”

“Raze,” the kid corrected her distractedly, “I'm Raze. Aunt, I – I'm sorry, I need to tell you something. I need –” nir eyes darted, as if having second thoughts, as if a step away from a full blown panic attack, and Quentin recalled Mystique's eyes again, Mystique's bleeding eyes. It was a flash, and then someone cursed and scrambled – Charles' psychic print was all over it, and sure enough the kid looked strained. Charles was shielding Eike's mind, had slipped, and had erected a wall again.

Why were Mystique's eyes bleeding, in the memory? She'd been shot.

“Look, you're dead tired,” said Rogue reasonably, “Whatever it is, pumpkin, I'm sure it can wait –”

“No, it _can't_ ,” choked out Eike, “Don't make me postpone it, it's not right. I can't stand this anymore, I –” ne took a breath, and then ne spoke quickly, voice faltering, breath quickening at every pause. “You were right, you were _right_ , mama didn't care, didn't care about _anyone_ , unless it was useful for _her_ _,_ she _knew_ , she knew the animal was my father too and she didn't care, she didn't tell the animal, she didn't tell papa, and if she had – if she had, the animal wouldn't have hurt me! It was her fault, her fault, and she – she –” ne shook nir head, stepped away from Rogue, from Daken, “She _faked it!_ ” ne cried out, voice ringing clearly in the lab, “She was never dead, she faked her death, she left me and _hid_ and then she dared come back and she tried to _kill_ Maiko!”

Ne paused, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling with every heavy breath; the coat had fallen to the floor.

It wasn't possible. It surely wasn't possible –

Of course it was. They knew Mystique. They knew what she was capable of.

Rogue's face was ashen, all the blood drained from her face. Her lips moved – the question in her mind was in anyone else's. She couldn't ask it, though. She didn't dare asking it, but really – there was no need to.

Because Eike was still using the past tense. 

Daken was clutching at Quentin's hand, and he'd blanched as well, lips white with shock. His eyes darted towards Maiko, as if to assure himself of her well-being; then back to his younger child... his traumatized, shaking child.

Someone had to say it, and none of those involved had the force to. Quentin took it upon himself. “Is she –”

“Dead,” Eike looked away, “I didn't mean to. I was upset and – the claws came out.” Ne deflated then... nir shoulders fell, as if ne didn't have the force to say anything else. As if this was the total extent of what ne was able to recount, the strain unbearable, the confession terrible. Ne couldn't meet anyone's eyes; ne was staring at the bloodied floor, resignation on nir features, shame... And that was probably what prompted Daken to action.

He let go of Quentin's hand, and stepped closer to his child. “Monkey. It wasn't your fault, you _mustn't_ hate yourself –” his voice shook with an unrefined chord. Was he thinking about Akihira? Maybe even Natsumi? He'd never spoken highly of her, but still, there had been a time he'd been horrified at what he'd done.

Eike looked up. And there was no pain in nir gaze, just puzzlement – it was deeply unsettling. “But I know that, papa! I didn't mean to, and it happened, and I can't undo it. But I – papa, I'm _glad_ I did!” ne cried out, eyes fixed on Daken; ne didn't react when Rogue stiffened. “I am!” Eike insisted, pleading at nir white-faced father as if they were the only people in the room. “She would have killed Maiko,” ne pointed at nir sister, who looked as shocked by that admission as everyone else, and yet she knew already about it all, “and God knows what she wanted with me and Charlie! She wanted to use us – she _abandoned_ us, papa! Just like that, she never wanted us, never _loved_ us, we were just means to an end, and she was _deranged_ , you know why she left me? Why she made me think she was dead _for eight freaking years?_ ” Nir nostrils were flaring in rage now, as if Mystique were still alive and could still be the recipient of such fury, and Daken could only shook his head and wait for the storm to unleash. “To _prove_ that the future could be rewritten,” spat Eike, venom in nir every word. The words brought a chill down Quentin's spine, but he wasn't the only one to react. Rogue started and Daken seemed to freeze, but Eike didn't appear to take notice. “She had this deranged notion that if she faked her death and then showed up,” ne spat, “then that meant that whatever freaking... _idiocy_ she blabbered about _me_ telling her that she would die because of me would be null, and she could go on and change the fucking future, and the amazing thing is that she _did_ die because of me – papa?” Eike broke to a halt, nir voice hesitant.

Because Daken had just staggered backwards, reached behind to hold onto something and caught Laura's arm; he looked devastated, features raw and open, as if torn apart by something eating at him from the inside, and it was him that couldn't meet his child's gaze now. Time stood still, a dreadful anticipation made shivers run down Quentin's spine, a collective shudder hit the assembled X-men like a wave, and Eike repeated, voice little: “Papa?”

As if snapped by an invisible string Daken's head jerked towards his child, and his eyes were almost pleading. “She wasn't... deranged,” he choked out, “You told her. Eighteen years ago, you weren't even born yet, you came back from the future and told her. You told her – I was there – you told her she'd die because of you.” And there, he looked away again, as if he couldn't bear Eike's gaze.

Eike stiffened, nir eyes closed into slits. “So it was my fault?” ne growled in the back of nir throat.

Daken looked back at nem in alarm. “Of course not! I'm just telling you – she wasn't crazy, she wasn't _deranged_ , she was –”

“Are you defending her?” Eike growled, teeth showing now. “What does it matter, if what she said was true? Why should I _care_? She still chose her plans over me, because she never _cared_ about me!”

“ _She did_ ,” said Daken vehemently. “Don't hate her for something she did later, she _did_ love you –” There was something else at place here, perhaps his own guilt over how _thoroughly_ he'd hated Natsumi and Logan. He was trying to protect Mystique's memory because he knew Eike would someday regret it, but it was too soon – too fresh a wound, and Eike had just killed nir abuser for the second time, and they were surrounded by strangers, and Eike would clearly take none of it – not now that ne'd mustered the courage to come clean and was finding nemself faced with a disconcerting defensiveness on Daken's part.

“Well, she had a strange way to show it!” ne snarled, tail slamming hard against the floor, sending pieces of Creed flying around. “How can you say that? I told you she tried to kill Maiko! Was I supposed to just _let_ her because, oh, she _loved_ me?”

“Of course not –”

“Then _what_?” Eike was shaking. “Don't you _dare_ say she loved me. She _didn't_!”

“Daken's just saying,” interjected Rogue, her own voice strained, her shock plain, “She had – she didn't _know_ how to show it, and she hurt who she loved in the process. She put more importance on her plans, that's true, but Eike –”

“ _Raze_!” ne snapped, turning to face her. “You're saying that I'm right, don't you realize that?”

Rogue shook her head. “Yeah. But I saw her when you were kidnapped, Raze. I'd never seen her like that. She was worried sick, she cared about you – she loved you.”

“I don't get why you think I should care, when she abandoned me all the same.” Eike looked away in disgust. Ne took them all in for the first time – all the X-Men that had been in the room when ne'd started talking, that were now looking at nem with varying degrees of worry and shock. Maybe ne felt exposed, because ne bent to retrieve Daken's coat, and wore it once more. “And you know what, it doesn't make sense,” ne muttered as ne zippered it to nir throat, “Why would I tell her that? To save her? To _warn_ her? As if I suddenly changed my mind about her?” ne shook nir head, looked around as if to imply ne wasn't ever going to regret killing her. “And if I warned her about that, why the hell didn't I warn her about my kidnapping? I could have avoided it! If she'd known, she'd have protected me better, and the animal wouldn't have –” nir eyes met Daken, and ne froze.

There was something on Daken's face – undeniable, grief-stricken, aching _guilt_.

 _I couldn't protect my own child_ , he'd said just that afternoon, mere hours ago, that failing a bleeding wound, as if he truly believed he could have done something, he could have stopped it, and it was impossible – dwelling on what-should-have-beens was toxic and only led to pain, Daken had told Quentin as much. But when time-travel got involved, the pain – the horrible doubt – took a more sinister certainty, that could drive one mad... that _had_ driven Evan's mad; Quentin felt his heart ache. And if Raze had told Mystique something else about the future, and Daken _had_ been there –

“I _did_?” cried out Eike, incredulous and hurt, voice vibrating with such aching betrayal.

And Daken stood still, said nothing, eyes lowering, and Eike snarled and reached him in a few steps, caught his arm. “Don't you _dare_. Answer me! I did?”

Daken's voice shook. “You didn't –”

“What? _What_?”

“You didn't elaborate.” The last word was spoken haltingly, broken and weak, and Daken covered his eyes with a hand... but Eike wasn't going to let him hide, wasn't going to show any mercy. Quentin wanted to intervene, he ached with the need, but he knew he couldn't. It wasn't his right, Eike had a good reason to be angry, and Daken – he just stood there, and he allowed Eike to grab his wrist and force his hand away from his face. He looked up, eyes raw and haunted, tears streaking his cheeks. “You didn't – God, I'm so _sorry_ –”

“I didn't _elaborate_?” Eike grabbed Daken's arms and shook him violently, Creed's blood leaving stains on Daken's costume. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Maiko approached the two of them, alarm on her face. “Ei-”

“ _Raze_!” snapped Eike in her direction, then ne shook nir father again, like a ragdoll. “What the _fuck_ does elaborate _mean_?”

Daken was sobbing in earnest now, with great violent gulps, and it was gut-wrenching; he looked so old and weary and hurt, so hurt it was tearing Quentin apart. “You got... upset... when Creed... was mentioned,” he choked out between sobs. “You called him... _God_... animal. We asked you, but you didn't... didn't want to –”

“And wasn't that enough to fucking kill the animal to be _sure_?” spat Eike, tail moving wildly, and the X-Men stepped away to avoid being hit, or to grant them at least some privacy – it wasn't right, to be watching this. It was horrid. “Was that why you always said not to trust it, because you knew, you knew and did _nothing_ , I could've been _fine_ –”

Daken let out a wail.

“And now no wonder you're defending her, you both knew, you both knew and did _nothing_!”

Daken choked: “Eik-”

“ _Raze_!” shrieked Eike, and ne slapped nir father so hard that Daken's face whipped to the side.

Daken took it without a sound of protest and sagged against Laura, who wrapped her arms around him.

“Raze,” she said softly, holding Daken up, but Eike ignored her. It was just nir father and nem now, them and this terrible newfound betrayal.

“You're a _liar_ ,” ne cried out, and ne didn't seem to realize ne was crying as well, the tears wiping streaks of blood from nir face, leaving the blue beneath. “You promised me, you promised I would always be safe, that you'd always protect me, but they were lies, you've always known and you lied to me! I... I, I – I ha-ha-hate you!”

Ne stood there, tears running freely, breath catching as ne realized what ne'd said, then nodding to nemself, as if accepting it, embracing it, uncaring of everything around nem, heedless of nir siblings - of Maiko's shocked inhale of breath; of Charles biting his lower lip, a crease of worry on his forehead.

Quentin ached. He ached for Eike's pain, yes, what monster wouldn't? – but most of all for Daken. Daken was letting Eike tear at him, passively accepting everything Eike did and said, as if he felt that he deserved it... that he deserved the pain, deserved Eike's hate. Quentin's chest tightened, his eyes burnt with sudden tears. It ached so much, oh, it was unbearable, and Laura was sniffling too, and Maiko, and Charles; Daken was probably pumping pheromones wildly, so pained he was, so trapped was he in his grief.

Daken turned slowly his head, looked upon Eike's tortured features, and spoke with a shaking voice as he fought to push it past his sobs. “You have every right to.”

Quentin moved; he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't bear seeing Daken like this, it was torture. He reached him and Laura and took him from her arms – Daken was almost limp, lifeless. Laura moved away as she blinked rapidly; Quentin was crying as well, a terrible ache in his chest as he cupped Daken's wet cheek, but when he looked up, when he looked at Eike... he saw only disgust and annoyance in nir now dry eyes.

“You're unbelievable,” ne spat, “I can't believe this! You act as if _you_ were hurting! Are you kidding me? Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Ne spread nir arms. Ne was right, of course ne was right; ne must hate this display, hate that Daken had the “gall” to be upset after what he'd confessed – but it wasn't so black and white, they weren't dealing with absolutes here. “Look at what you're doing!” snarled Eike, looking at the closest X-Men, who were sniffling. “Stop with the damn _fucking_ pheromones, I swear to God! Is that how you want to deal with this? You want to make people _sorry_ for you, you _liar_ , you –” ne broke off, eyes widening, hands closing into fists, gaze fixed on Daken. There was a horrified expression on nir face.

Ne cried out, made a step back. Then:

“Are you using them on him?” ne asked, voice breaking, and it took Quentin a stunned long moment to understand what ne meant, “On Phoenix, are you using your _pheromones_ on him?”

“What?” Daken's weak cry was stupefied; of course he was using them, it was quite obvious, but that wasn't what Eike meant – the horror on nir face and in nir voice meant something else.

Ne meant – oh God, ne meant something else _entirely_.

Daken turned his head; Quentin's palm brushed against his lips, and Quentin lowered his hand to allow him to speak as he now faced his child again.

Eike had still that horrified look on nir face. “You – I thought it was _lying_ –”

“What are you talking about –”

“But you do it! You're _doing_ it! You're – the animal said you use pheromones to make people sleep with you! You're _using_ them on Phoenix –”

Creed just couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he? As if Daken hadn't been tormented enough by the doubt of whether people liked him because of the pheromones. Quentin remembered Hiro, sweet little Hiro, pushing him hard against a couch as he tried to determine just _why_ Quentin was helping him. He recalled Daken, that terrible night in the cemetery, hastening to say that he wasn't using pheromones on Quentin.

Seething on Daken's behalf, Quentin answered in his stead – Daken couldn't anyway, given the way he'd stilled in Quentin's arms. “He's not.”

“But you _couldn't_ really know, could you?”

“I can, and he's _not_.”

“How can you be sure?” insisted Eike, “How can anyone – Maiko! Do you use them on Maiko?” Ne looked at nir sister, who blanched and shook her head.

“Ei- Raze. Stop,” she said softly, but ne didn't heed her. The seed of doubt had been planted, and ne was horrified by it.

“Do you _make_ her love you?” ne cried out, “And Phoenix, and all these people –”

“ _Stop_ ,” growled Quentin. Daken was stiff in his arms, the sobs had died out; he looked like he simply couldn't breathe anymore, and Quentin felt nothing now, no grief – just his own, that he'd felt before Daken lost control; there was no constriction in his chest anymore. Daken was reining the pheromones in with some obvious, straining effort – horrified himself, horrified by the question.

“But don't you want to know –”

“Please stop.” Daken's voice was such a pitiful whine that it seemed impossible it could come from any living creature. “Stop, I'm not – I don't do that anymore –”

That was, by far, the worst thing he could have said. Maybe he was striving for honesty, he wanted to make his child understand – but how could he explain how thoroughly one's life is destroyed by a power like that? How could he, without explaining what had molded him – what events had transpired during his childhood, and the horrors that had come after? How could he tell his child that _that_ had been the only way he'd known how to live, for so long?

Without that background – without such knowledge, that Eike was under no obligation to even desire right now, while ne was suffering as well – those words simply counted as a statement of guilt.

Eike shook nir head, eyes still so terribly wide, not looking at Daken but at Quentin's face – as if ne couldn't _bear_ the sight of Daken's.

“Not _anymore_? So you used to?” There was no answer, but ne didn't wait for any. “You – that's like drugging people! That's rape! You're a r-r-rapist?” The word came weak out of nir mouth, as if ne couldn't believe it, as if ne didn't want to believe it. “Oh no, you _can't_. You can't be – You're like the animal – you –” ne stopped. “ _What?_ ” ne growled, as if Daken had said something, and indeed he _had_ , just not out loud: looking down at him, Quentin saw he was barely moving his lips, face white, but he couldn't make out what he was saying.

Whatever it was, Eike could hear it, and it was the final blow; ne hiccuped, and unzippered Daken's coat with a few angry, jerking motions; then ne threw it to the ground.

“You disgust me,” ne spat, “I hate you, I – don't ever come near me again! I don't want to see you _ever again_!”

Ne could have just as well driven nir claws through Daken's heart. His feet finally gave out, and he collapsed against Quentin, said no word, indeed made no sound. Quentin held him as Eike whipped around, as ne stumbled against Creed's corpse, as ne looked frantically around till nir eyes set on Rogue, who was still keeping close enough – unlike the other X-Men, that had thankfully retreated to the other end of the lab and were pretending not to hear anything.

He held Daken as Eike begged Rogue to burn Creed to ashes, and then begged Billy to put that sigil on Creed's soul, and then looked at Maiko and Charles and said: “I want to go home.”

He held Daken as Maiko hesitated, gaze moving between her sibling and her father, and as Eike crunched up nir nose and said: “Suit yourself,” and as ne stormed off, approached Jubilation, asked for and obtained nir own cell phone and teleported.

He held Daken as Charles exchanged a glance with Maiko, said: “I'm going,” and teleported as well.

He held Daken as Maiko stood there, face contorting with such an extensive mix of emotions that it was impossible to discern any – but then whatever argument she was having with herself ended, and she slowly approached them, steps light and careful.

“Otousan,” she murmured as she reached them.

Daken gave no sign of hearing her; he was shuddering as if the temperature in the room had dropped down, eyes feverish. It made Quentin's chest ache.

She came closer still. “Otousan,” she said terribly softly, and hesitantly lay a hand over Daken's shoulder.

Daken blinked and came back to awareness, his hand run to Quentin's jacket; he tightened his fist around the fabric, and looked up at Quentin. “I don't use them on you,” he choked out.

Quentin nodded. “I know,” he reassured him.

“And I – Maiko –” Daken turned towards his daughter, his expression urgent, pained; he fought to stand upright. “I swear –”

“I know, otousan.” Maiko crossed her arms, hands clutching at her upper arms. “And Eike – Raze knows that too. Ne was just upset. Ne'll come around –”

“Ne shouldn't.” Daken's voice was breaking at the edges, as if he were choking on shattered glass. “Ne shouldn't, ne's right. It _is_ rape. I –” His eyes fell on Creed's remains. “I'm like him.” And it wasn't just Creed he was referring to as his features crumbled; no, he was referring to Romulus.

“You're not,” said Quentin, but Daken wasn't listening.

“I'm _exactly_ like him, and I always told myself I wasn't, but what was I doing if not rape? Just because they enjoyed it, just because it only works if you're already attracted to me, that doesn't mean – that doesn't _mean_ – oh, God.”

“Daken –” Laura was approaching them as well.

“Otousan.” Maiko shook him lightly by his shoulder and Daken looked at her and winced. “Otousan, you told me that you haven't always been able to control them, and –”

“No,” Daken said fiercely, eyes alight with that feverish gleam. “I knew exactly what I was doing. I was using them, and I didn't care, because they _deserved_ it, the animals, they deserved being used if they couldn't even control themselves, if they could have used _me_ if given the chance – but _I_ was the animal, _I_ was –” he was muttering so fast that Quentin doubted he was talking to them; he was talking to himself, and he was saying chilling things. Horrifying things. Things that he'd been taught to believe from his childhood, things that still haunted him.

Things that were hurting him. He was being too hard on himself.

“You aren't an animal,” Quentin spoke clearly, fervently hoping it would get through to him, but Daken only looked at Maiko again.

“I don't want nem to come around, ne shouldn't. Ne's right. I'm just like Creed. Why should ne look past that? I have no right to ask nem to. Not after what he _did_ to nem. And you –”

“Me?” Maiko looked taken aback.

“Why are you still here? Why are looking at me like that, as if I weren't _exactly_ like the monsters who hurt you?” What did he mean by that? Surely he couldn't mean –

But he did. Quentin recalled meeting Maiko, so many years ago. He recalled the few tendrils of memories he'd managed to coax from her mind.

Abuse. She'd been subjected to abuse.

Maiko shuddered. “It's not the same.”

“It is –”

“ _I_ decide that, otousan, not you,” snarled Maiko. “You saved me. That counts for something to me. You – you lived through the same,” her eyes darted towards Quentin; maybe she was asking herself if he knew. At the same time, Quentin was surprised to realize that she knew about Daken's past – maybe not about everything, but still. “And I get that you couldn't even _have_ a firm understanding of what you were doing, all the lines were blurred and –”

“God, don't make excuses for me.” Daken shook his head. “Don't! I can't bear it, I –”

“You said you don't do that anymore,” Maiko kept on, relentless, “Was that a lie?”

“No!”

“Then I'm satisfied.” Maiko hesitated a moment, but then she nodded. Her face was white – she might be relying on logic right now, but this was raw and personal and terrible, and she might have to face it later, when the worry cooled down. Still, it was a blessing that she was willing to even talk to Daken now. “I forgive you, otousan,” she said softly, and Daken was crying again, silent tears streaking his cheeks. He shook his head, but seemed unable to answer her merciful words, and hid his face against Quentin's chest.

Quentin studied the woman, her pale resolute face. She was made of steel.

And she still hadn't commented on the earlier revelation about Daken and Mystique knowing that Creed would do something to Eike; nor had she given any sign of surprise when Daken had confessed. It struck Quentin, right in that moment, that she might even have already known.

Maiko looked around, her gaze lingering on Creed's corpse, and she grimaced. “Charles told me that Raze tortured Creed.”

“Yes.” Quentin wiped his own tears with the back of a hand, then tightened his embrace on Daken. “ _Charles_ told you?”

“They've apparently developed a strong psychic connection.” Maiko passed a hand over her face. “It was severed when you entered that facility, but it came back once you got here. He saw mostly flashes – but he got the gist of it.” She crossed her arms again, and leant against a table. “And ne stabbed you?” she looked at Laura, who nodded as she settled on a chair. “God, I'm sorry.”

“I'm fine,” Laura said briskly. “I heal, Maiko.”

“Yes, but that must have been a shock.” Maiko glanced back at what was left of Creed. “I hadn't realized ne was so upset. If I had, I wouldn't have let nem come. And Jean -!” she clenched her jaw. “She ought to have noticed! What possessed her to indulge nem so? What possessed her to leave you dying on a floor?”

“I think you know perfectly well, Maiko.” Laura spoke quietly. “She's _not_ in her right mind.”

“She's just coping,” Quentin felt compelled to defend her. She was blind – because of him – and she'd seen her friend die, she's watched everything fall apart. Of course she was angry. Of course she wanted to take action, and any casualty be damned.

“She doesn't _get_ to cope at the expense of my sibling's well-being,” snarled Maiko. “She knew full well nir mental state, and still she didn't care. She led nem in that horrid facility, and now Eike – Raze has killed again, and this... this wasn't self-defense. This _wasn't_ an accident.” She shuddered. “What – what happened exactly?”

“We don't know,” Quentin had to confess. “We split, and then they got separated from Rogue. We might be able to ask Jean – or maybe Raze will tell you.” Daken shook at hearing the name.

“You should go, Maiko,” said Laura, “We'll be fine. Take care of Raze. Don't insist if ne doesn't want to talk about Creed. And don't say what you said just now – ne might take it as an accusation.”

“God, no!” Maiko shook her head. “I'm glad that monster's dead, he deserved it. But that ne's had to kill him nemself... and ne did it like this! It worries me.”

“If I'd been there,” began Daken, his voice weak against Quentin's chest; but Maiko didn't let him continue.

“No, otousan. I'm not accusing you. It happened, and that's it. Don't start with all that, not now.” The harshness of the words was gentled by her soft tone, but it was obvious she'd had to deal with this attitude already. That went to confirm that she'd known about what ate at Daken. “If anything, it's my fault,” she said quietly. “All that hate – This began with Mystique, and I should have taken notice... I should have told you.” She shut her eyes. “I'm sorry. At least now you know.”

Daken stirred; he extricated himself from Quentin's embrace, and turned, wiping at his tears with the sleeves of the costume. It left blood on his cheeks, but he didn't appear to mind.

He didn't appear to mind _anything_ , his features carefully neutral.

“She tried to kill you.”

“Yes.” Maiko nodded, eyes still closed. “She shot me. And Ei- _Raze_ came in, and – you can imagine.”

“When were you planning to tell me?”

Maiko's eyes shot open at the strain in Daken's voice, at the incredulity with which the question had been asked. She grimaced. “I wanted to. But Raze kept saying ne wasn't ready, and I – oh, I don't know! It seems so stupid of me now.” She put her hands to her face. “Ne didn't want you to worry, and I thought we could manage for a while. Even when ne kept postponing, I was sure ne'd change nir mind –”

“For a while.” Daken appeared to be regaining at least some semblance of self-control, and while Quentin was relieved, he couldn't help but notice the line of questioning. “Just how long has this been going on? When did it happen?” Daken was focusing his shock on something else, he was desperately trying to function, but in doing so he was _accusing_ his daughter.

And Maiko saw that, of course: she was his daughter; she saw right through him. And she must be battling with some self-hate of her own, because she averted her gaze.

“A... a while ago,” she said, and winced. “Otousan, I've been wanting to tell you for so long – remember when we talked yesterday? I wanted to –”

“But you didn't.” Daken straightened up and set a hand on a table. “Maiko, when?” his voice was sharp now, urgent; he hated being lied to, Quentin knew that. And this wasn't a harmless little lie, it was something serious.

Maiko spoke without looking at her father, her eyes lowered to the floor. “... before the Election.”

Her words brought a change in Daken. It was quite frightening, in a way, how he froze, how he blanched – this time with fury, not with pain. His eyes were wide with shock, with plain betrayal. Even Laura started at the answer, because a great amount of time had passed already – too much time.

“You mean to tell me,” Daken's voice was strangled, “that Mystique showed up before the Election. More than a _month_ ago. That Ei- Raze killed her, more than a _month_ ago. That for a _month_ , you've kept me running in circles, you've kept this from me? Did you think it wasn't important?” His voice rose to a shout, getting the attention of the other X-Men. Rogue was still pretty close, so she'd heard everything so far – she got even closer, standing just at the edge of the group.

Maiko shook her head. “Of course it was! I told you, ne wanted to wait, and I –”

“Who was the _adult_ there? How could you think it was a good course of action?”

“I didn't want to estrange nem! Ne was adamant, ne was sure you would take it badly, and I _knew_ you would, that you'd feel guilty –”

“Oh, so it's my _fault_ that you didn't tell me?” spat Daken, “Yes, I get it, I gave you the impression that I wouldn't be _able_ to deal with something like this, but you should have told me! For a month – for a month, Maiko, a _month_! - you lied to me. For a _month_ , whenever I asked you whether all was well, you told me it was! And it _wasn't_! You think I'd have stayed here if I'd known? You think I'd have let Eike do all that – God, I wasn't worried because I trusted you... I _trusted_ you to take care of your sibling –”

“I thought I could handle it,” chocked out Maiko, eyes bright with tears.

“Oh, you thought you could _handle_ it? You thought you could lie to me, and for _what_?” Daken's voice rose to a scream, and there was definitely a touch of hysteria in there. Christ, he was channeling all he'd felt during his confrontation with Eike, and he was taking it all on Maiko. She didn't deserve it – Quentin could tell she _thought_ she did, because she wasn't really defending herself, just weakly protesting. Exactly as Daken had done mere minutes ago, she was allowing herself to be attacked.

She was in the wrong – dammit, yes: she should have told Daken. But she knew that. She felt guilty about that. And instead of seeing the similarity, Daken was tearing at her... or perhaps he was doing it because he _did_ see it. He was tearing at himself.

And there was no way of getting through to him. Laura had a hand on his arm, she was talking quietly, but Daken shoved her off. Quentin, after a small hesitation, tried the same, but Daken looked at him, and shook sharply his head, once – this _wasn't_ Quentin's business; this was a family matter. This was his child lying about a trauma faced by his other child, and Quentin obviously had no say in it. He'd promised Daken he would support him when talking with Eike, and while things were going horribly wrong, that was all he could do – he couldn't undermine him as he confronted Maiko. He only hoped the woman was strong enough to face Daken's fury.

“Do you realize what ne's facing?” snarled Daken, “What ne's doing – what you're _making_ nem do. Ne's impersonating nir dead mother, whom ne's _killed_!” Maiko's shoulders hunched. “You thought it wasn't worth stopping that farce?”

“Yes!” cried out Maiko, “Of course! But ne didn't _want_ to! We're doing good things! God, we're helping people –”

“At the price of nir sanity! Ne can't stay there, ne has to go home, deal with everything, Mystique and Creed and –” Daken's voice died out; he set a hand on the table behind him, steeling himself. “I ought to drag nem out of there,” he hissed. “But I can't now, can I? _You_ need to stop everything. Stop the damn machine, get the hell out of that island. Bring nem home.” The last sentence was spoken quietly, softly. It was a truce, of sorts; a request for help. Not an apology, but it was still too early for that.

But Maiko hesitated. It was a brief moment, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it grimace.

Daken held his breath. “You don't want to. You -”

“Of course I do –” Maiko took a step in his direction, eyes pleading, but Daken hastily moved _back_ , keeping some distance between Maiko and himself. Was he so shocked that he wanted to keep her away... or did he fear what might happen – what he could do – if they were close? “Otousan –”

“You didn't keep it from me because _Raze_ didn't want to tell me. You did it because you knew if I'd caught wind of what the hell was happening, I'd have brought Raze home immediately. And you couldn't have that, could you?” Daken's voice was cold. “Oh no, because you're doing _good things_.” Somehow, he made it sound as a dirty word, something wholly unseemly and disgusting.

“We are.” Maiko straightened up, that grimace still on her face. She seemed upset, maybe at herself, but she kept talking. “We _are_ , and we can't just _leave_ it –”

“Oh no, you can't. But you _can_ use your sibling –”

“I'm not _using_ nem!” snapped Maiko, “Otousan, really, listen –”

“– for your foolish crusade,” Daken's voice was rising again. “Saint Maiko, protector of the weak and those in need, except her own sibling, who's just the means to an end –”

“Otousan!” Maiko gasped, wide-eyed. “I _love_ Raze, you know I do!”

“No, what you love is feeling _needed_. All those years preparing for a battle that doesn't concern you, just to stand up and say ' _I'm a hero, I saved people. I'm saving mutants, I'm saving Madripoor_.' You only care about that damn island!”

“That's not true –”

“And it doesn't matter who you destroy in the process, does it? It doesn't matter if Ei- Raze gets hurt in the process. The only thing that matters... is that you get what you want.” He shut his eyes. There was something in the way he said those last words – a weariness. A shift, as if he'd gotten a confirmation, as if that hurt him more than anything else.

Maiko felt the change, of course; she moved, raised a hand. “Otousan –”

“Don't call me that.”

Maiko jerked back as if slapped, features set in a frozen mask. “Ot-”

“ _Don't_. Not if you're set on hurting my real child.”

Christ, that was a low blow. Quentin felt his teeth on edge, felt himself shaking, and he knew it wasn't his own reaction.

He was still a foot from Daken and he _knew_ that it was Daken's – that he was giving off pheromones, and that _that_ was what he was feeling. Why would he say such a thing while obviously hating it?

“I should've –” Daken stopped, gritted his teeth hard. Quentin shuddered at the waves rushing past him, at the sheer discomfort. “I should have just dumped you in a hospital that night.”

Quentin's chest was aching, aching terribly, his knees shaking; how could Daken not keel over and grasp at his heart, kneel and beg forgiveness for such words? How could he stand there and feel what Quentin was experiencing, and keep his eyes closed as Maiko blanched, and not deign her of a glance as she let out a little sob? How could he say that and suffer through every second of it, and still stand?

Maiko opened her mouth; nothing came out of it for long, terrible moments. Then she exhaled: “Otou-”

“Are you deaf? You're not my daughter.” Daken opened his eyes at last, and no fool would take that expression as anything but tortured, his features torn with anguish. If he was trying to push her away, he was doing a really shitty job of it; but the words surely hurt all the same. Even if he was plainly despising himself for saying them, he was still saying them. “You never were.”

“Daken.” Laura had kept silent up until that moment, but now she probably felt she couldn't anymore. “You should... take a step back and think about what you're saying.”

“I know what I'm saying.”

“No, you don't.” Laura clenched her jaw, her gaze on her niece. Maiko appeared frozen in shock, grief-stricken, unable to utter a single word – unable to do anything but stare at her father with pleading eyes. “You're lashing out.”

“It's all right -” came Maiko's weak voice.

“It's certainly not.” Laura's sharp voice could have cut through the air. “Nothing that was said here tonight was _all right_. Let's not spiral even further.”

“How sanctimonious.”

“I'm not listening to you, Daken.” Laura turned her back on him with the stern indifference of a sibling who knows what she'd dealing with. “Now. Maiko, you'll return to Madripoor – Raze must be asking nemself what's taking so long –”

“Yes, run to your little island,” was Daken's scathing comment. “Go back to your _project_. Keep using Raze, that's quite all right –”

“Daken, for Christ's sake –”

“- stick to your _brilliant_ plan. Leave the island as soon as it comes to fruition, and _maybe_ I'll believe you ever cared about Raze.” Maiko started, looked about to say something – but Daken spoke over her. “But don't, even for a second, think I'll let you alone with Raze ever again.”

That was the last straw, probably; the confirmation that it was real – that Daken was truly upset. That he wasn't just angry, he didn't meant it when he said she wasn't his daughter, or else he would have kept her from returning to Madripoor and Eike, maybe even by force. No, he was disappointed, and it was obvious that, to Maiko, that was far worse: her eyes filled with tears, and she merely nodded, her gaze to the floor.

Daken turned his head, as if he couldn't even look at her. “Laura, could you –”

“Ah, no.” Laura pivoted towards him, contempt on her face. “I'm not indulging you in this, Daken. I'm not _keeping an eye_ on my niece as if she were a criminal!”

“Well, _I_ can't, can I?” Daken's features contorted into a mask of utter pain. “I can't set foot in there. I can't force myself on Raze, not now. You aren't part of this circus, you haven't _disappointed_ nem, ne likes you –” Ne'd _stabbed_ Laura, and would feel guilty, and accept her presence –

Laura's features softened, but she shook her head. “No, Daken.”

“Hell, I'll do it.” Rogue's voice took them all by surprise; Quentin himself had forgotten she was there, listening to them as the other X-Men still pretended nothing was happening in this corner of the lab. “But I don't get why not just take nem and bring nem here. You were talking about that earlier.”

“And I was wrong.” Daken crossed his arms, looked at Rogue with genuine gratitude. “I can't take it away from nem, it will only spite nem more. But I can make sure she sticks to the plan and doesn't _casually_ try to prolong their stay.” He wouldn't even spare a glance for his daughter as he said so, the slightest grimace on his face.

“Got it.” Rogue nodded, equally ignoring Maiko. “This plan?”

Apparently, the plan had always been to steady the island's course for a while and then to hold democratic elections, after which “Mystique” would have retired. The period of time after which to take this course of action had always been nebulous; they'd been waiting to secure a UN seat, but with the shaky situation they were in – what with harboring Jean – Daken felt that wasn't to be expected any time soon. They should just build some schools and let the island be, he remarked with some disdain, but he trusted Rogue to take a look at everything and keep a close eye on Maiko and, most importantly, on Eike – she was volunteering because ne was her adoptive mother's child, after all, and her concern for nir well-being lead Daken to trust her with this.

Maiko kept trying to meet Daken's gaze, but to no avail; she was pale with shock at her father's words, at the accusations he'd made, at his ignoring her.

Eventually Rogue disappeared for a while, to gather a few things, and still Daken wouldn't look at his daughter. She stood apart from them all, composed but clearly upset, and Laura joined her, and spoke quietly to her until Rogue came back.

The other X-Men still remaining in the lab – Colossus and Katherine had left – were watching the proceedings from a distance, but approached them when the two women were preparing to leave, and bid Rogue goodbye. Jubilation said they'd contact them once Jean woke up, and then the two teleported – Rogue disappeared first; then Maiko, with a last, tortured glance at her father.

As soon as they were gone, Daken lost all the self-control he'd apparently been relying on; he fell on a chair and hid his face with his hands. He didn't speak, nor did he move – maybe he couldn't, maybe he was so overwhelmed by all that had happened and had been said that he simply couldn't react. As if he'd given all he could give, and now could simply sit, and wait for something that wouldn't come. What was he thinking about – was he regretting what he'd told Maiko? Was he rewinding Eike's words over and over again?

Quentin moved to stand beside him; he put a hand on his shoulder. Daken stirred, but that was the only reaction.

Billy and Jubilation were discussing in a low voice how to best dispose of Creed's body; Broo had returned at Jean's side; Robert sat beside her.

Laura stood where she'd sent Maiko off, her hard eyes set on Daken; and it wasn't long before she exploded.

“What the hell was that?”

Daken didn't answer.

“What's _wrong_ with you.” Laura approached them in a few angry steps, uncaring of Creed's blood spraying on her already ruined costume. “Why did you say those things?”

“Leave me alone,” muttered Daken, and he hung his head, inhaled shakily.

“No.” Laura went to a halt in front of Daken. “Daken, I _get_ you're upset, but that wasn't the way to –” she lowered her hand to his free shoulder.

“Don't _touch_ me!” Daken's voice broke on the second word, and he finally showed his face as he jerked his arm to chase her away. There was something in his eyes – a manic, tormented light, that gave Laura pause, and she took a step back. “Leave me alone, leave – _God_ –” He slapped a hand over his mouth as a wail escaped it, and he stood up, ignoring Laura. He took a few steps towards Jubilation and Billy, and his haunted gaze fixed on the lump that was Creed as if he couldn't avert his eyes. “Lee. Did you find _anything_ , at least?”

Jubilation hesitated. Daken took it as a negative answer, and he began to shake his head convulsively, as if that could change anything –

“No. No, you _have_ to have found something. Tell me we found something. Tell me it wasn't for nothing, that at least we have _something_ –”

Jubilation held up a hand to stop him. “No. They were thorough... There was nothing. No documents, no trails, _nothing_ except Creed. They didn't need his corpse anymore, evidently.”

“We think they kept it after – you know.” Billy grimaced. “I saw the tag out of the room – _source material_. Maybe they used the corpse to correct errors, to study the tissues –”

“I don't _care_ about Creed!” Daken kicked a particularly nasty mass of flesh and entrails, making them all jump. “What's important is the clones, we have to find them –” Eyes wide, he seemed ready to start a full-on desecration, and Billy, who looked downright alarmed at the prospect, conjured a shimmering shield around the corpse. He then put himself between it and Daken.

“That's enough.”

“Remove yourself,” growled Daken.

“I will incinerate him, and make sure he _never_ comes back again. You have my word.” The air cracked with the power in Billy's voice. “But I won't let you touch him.”

“ _It_ ,” corrected Daken, and that was it: all it took to break down at last, all it took to have the full weight of what had happened crush him like a mountain.

He took a breath, and another, and another, and stepped back, back till he hit a table, looking frantically around till he located Quentin, who reached him immediately. Daken grabbed at the front of his costume as if holding on to a lifeline, his breathing quickened as if he were on the verge on a panic attack, eyes alert and pleading, a terrible grimace on his face. Quentin truly didn't know what to do – he wanted to hold him, to tell him everything would be all right, but it was a lie, or a such would certainly be perceived... and he wasn't even sure his touch would be welcome, not after Daken's reaction to Laura touching his shoulder. He hadn't reacted like that to Quentin's hand, but still it could be different now... some things must have been awoken by the whole horrifying confrontation with both his children.

“I think you need to rest.” Laura's voice was very soft now, as if talking to a scared animal and not to the brother she'd just rightfully confronted. “A lot of things happened. Maybe tomorrow you'll be better, you'll manage to look at everything with a fresh perspective... not haunted by – by what happened.”

“I won't – ha _uhhh_ – be put to bed.” Daken tightened his hold on Quentin's costume as he let out a small sob.

“Daken, truly, I think it's for the best. Get some sleep, we'll handle everything here.” She looked at Quentin, a question in her eyes – could Quentin take care of him? - and Quentin nodded.

It was a statement to Daken's state of shock that he just let Quentin lead him away, out of the lab, with the same passivity he'd shown after that other terrible confrontation in Madripoor.

Once reached the first floor they had to navigate the corridors, still roaming with kids despite the late hour – apart from the excitement of youth, they'd probably heard that there had been a mission. Quentin left to other faculty members the duty of making them all go to bed and shielded Daken and himself from view. He debated where to lead them and quickly decided for his own room.

He turned to lead them onto his corridor, and Daken stopped for a moment.

“Is this all right?” Quentin asked softly. “Do you want to go to your room? It's fine -”

“No.” Daken's weak voice made Quentin's chest tighten. “No, it's fine. I – I'm sorry.”

“For what?” Quentin spoke quietly as they resumed walking.

“Everything. _Everything_ , I -” Daken hung his head as he sobbed. “I can't –”

“Hey.” Quentin squeezed Daken's hand as they reached his room. “I know it doesn't seem so, not right now, but it will resolve. I know it will.”

He opened his door and entered the room, but Daken stood still. He turned to look at Daken, saw his eyes – there was so much in those eyes. So much.

“I don't deserve you,” said Daken, and Quentin could tell that he meant it – he could hear it in the rawness of his voice.

“I think you do,” he beckoned him closer, and Daken followed; Quentin closed the door behind him. Daken stood there, bloodied, disheveled, tears streaking his cheeks, and Quentin had never loved him more, had never wanted anything more than keep him close to his heart and comfort him.

He stepped closer and hovered his free hand over Daken's costume. “Let's get you out of all this stuff, okay? A shower, and then bed.”

Daken shook his head. “I'm sorry,” he repeated, voice cracking, fingers grasping at Quentin's, squeezing.

“You don't need to be sorry. Not with me.” Quentin raised his hand to cup Daken's cheek. Daken leant into the touch with a sigh, eyes half-closed, tears trapped in his eyelashes. “I'm here.”

“Yes.” Daken closed his eyes. “Please.”

“What?”

“I – I'm so sorry. I – I need –”

“Anything.”

Daken laughed shakily, almost hysterically, a brief desperate sound. “You don't know what you're agreeing to.”

“Tell me then.” Quentin stepped closer still, caressed Daken's cheek – he'd cupped the scarred one, and the hard tissue beneath his fingers made him shiver. The scars on Daken's hips – had they healed? Were they still there? “Tell me, Daken. What can I do?”

Daken leaned closer, and rested his forehead to Quentin's. His grip on Quentin's fingers tightened, and he'd never looked more anguished, more guilty, than in that moment.

“Please – please punish me,” he begged.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : YOU decide!
> 
> Since chapters 25 and 26 take place at the same time (more or less) I thought you might like to have a say in which one of them I should post first. If there's a draw (or if no one expresses any preferences), I'll decide myself.
> 
> The choices are:
> 
> \- Quentin and Daken's POVs;
> 
> \- Raze and Maiko's POVs.
> 
> Let me know what you prefer! ^-^


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken struggles to cope; Quentin does everything he can to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been getting much feedback lately. I hope that doesn't mean that you aren't enjoying the story anymore. 
> 
> This chapter deals with an important headcanon of mine, so I hope you'll let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, be aware that this chapter deals with really heavy material. More specific **TRIGGER WARNINGS** :
> 
> \- self-harm, vomit, mentions of rape, rape apologism;
> 
> \- there's a brief d/s scene, starting at “Daken inhaled shakily, as if to prepare himself” and ending some lines after “Daken cried out and stilled”;
> 
> \- the fourth installment of this series, _Swallow me whole till there's nothing left inside my soul_ , is heavily referenced. For those who haven't read it (which I'd totally understand), it focuses on the relationship between Daken and Romulus, and on a specific punishment of sexual nature. In this chapter there are some flashbacks of it - nothing graphic, but they're there.
> 
> I'm aware that, after all those warnings, my earlier choice of words (that I worry you aren't _enjoying_ the story anymore) is rather unfortunate. 
> 
> What I meant is that I hope you still care about this story. 
> 
> Finally, and then I'll let you read (and I hope this long wall of text hasn't led anyone to skip directly to the chapter, since you all needed to read the warnings): friendly reminder that I'm not a native speaker and I do the editing myself, so there could very well be horrifying grammatical mistakes, which you're free to point out to me.

25.

“I was a heavy heart to carry,  
my beloved was weighed down:  
My arms around his neck,  
My fingers laced to crown.  
I was a heavy heart to carry,  
But he never let me down;  
When he had me in his arms,  
My feet never touched the ground.”

Florence + the Machine – _Heavy in your arms_

 

 

Quentin stood, stunned.

The words echoed in his mind as he looked at Daken's closed eyes, at his quivering eyelashes, at the tears mixing with the blood left by Eike:

 _Punish me_.

Quentin's chest tightened and he moved his hand from Daken's cheek to the back of his head, to cradle it gently. “Daken –”

Daken grimaced. “I'm sorry, I –”

“No, no.” Quentin spoke softly. “Don't apologize. It's all right -”

“It's not.” Daken opened his eyes at last, and they were reddened and weary. “It's n-n-not, please – I need –” He sobbed, raw and gut-wrenchingly violent. “I'm _sorry_ –”

Keeping his touch as light as he could, Quentin caressed Daken's hair. What should he do – what should he say? He couldn't just keep saying it would be all right; he couldn't, because Daken simply couldn't hear it right now. Everything had piled up, had collapsed upon him at the same time, and it was visceral and unbearable. He was shaking with the strain of breathing, had a manic light in his eyes, and kept muttering those words, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry -”

It was tearing Quentin apart.

Still caressing Daken's head, he brought up their linked hands and pressed them to his chest, to his heart. Maybe it would help Daken focus on Quentin's heartbeat – how he wished that could simply be enough, as if his steady heartbeat could soothe Daken's pain! He could do nothing else than murmur nonsense, their foreheads pressed together, Daken's desperate frantic gulps mixing with Quentin's breath.

Then Daken raised his free hand, grasped at the front of Quentin's costume, pushed his forehead against Quentin's, and now he was repeating something else. Those same terrible words, over and over and over again, and Quentin couldn't do it – it hurt to even hear it. It hurt because it wasn't right that Daken would feel the need to ask for something like that, it hurt because it was _engraved_ in Daken, that need, and now he was asking for it and Quentin couldn't do it – couldn't submit to such a request. He ached because he feared that was the only thing that would snap Daken out of his pain and Quentin couldn't bring himself to even think about doing it.

“Punish me,” he was asking, as if he deserved pain, as if he deserved it for what he'd done, and it was horrifying and so terribly sad.

He had to stop Daken, get through to him. He had to make him understand that he didn't deserve punishment, that what had happened was terrible but there surely was a way to fix it; he didn't have to take it all upon his shoulders, he didn't have to bear such a burden. He'd made mistakes – yes; who didn't? But he didn't deserve to be torn apart because of it. Nobody did.

Quentin lowered his hand to cup Daken's cheek. “Why?” he exhaled, and Daken hiccuped to a stop and looked at him with those tortured eyes. He looked taken aback, or perhaps startled by such a question. Quentin gently nudged Daken's nose. “Why, Daken?”

“I –” Daken broke to a halt, as if unsure, unable to properly articulate everything that was eating at him. Quentin would coach him through it – they'd make it together. It was all right. He could help Daken.

“Why do you think you deserve punishment?”

“I _hurt_ them,” blurted out Daken, “I hurt them, I disappointed them, they were hurt, they're _hurting_ because of me,” Daken turned his head against Quentin's palm, avoiding his gaze.

“Raze will come around,” Quentin offered quietly. “Ne has a lot to process, but ne needs you, Daken, don't give up hope. You need to be there for nem. And Maiko will forgive you –”

“They shouldn't! Not after all I've done, what I've said, what I've _done_ to them – God, they're like me, I turned them into me, oh God, _oh_ –” Daken squinted his eyes shut. “I've done them wrong,” he choked out, “I've done them nothing but wrong, I _destroyed_ them. My children –”

“That's not true.” Quentin pressed gently Daken's cheek so that he would turn and face him, but Daken kept still. Quentin didn't insist. “Daken, that's not true.”

“What do you _know..._ ”

“I know what I see.” Quentin spoke firmly. “I know that you're a good father.” Daken shook his head. “You _are_. You've done them good, and you'll solve this. The mistakes you made today don't invalidate all you've done.”

“Today?” cried out Daken. “All their life. I – ah – they would've been better off without me. _Without_ me –” He let go of Quentin's costume, and beat his own chest, then again, and again, harder and harder and _harder_ , a wordless lament escaping his lips.

“No, stop. You're hurting yourself.” Quentin let go of the hand he was holding to catch the other one – he pricked his thumb in the process. What -

He felt the blood drain from his face when he realized what had wounded him.

The tips of Daken's claws were visible, rising from both his wrist and the back of his hand.

Could Daken hurt himself with those? Could he hurt himself in a _permanent_ way? The hair on the back of Quentin's neck rose. He recalled Hiro's habit of stabbing himself to bleed his nightmares out.

He lowered his hand from Daken's cheek just in time to catch Daken's other hand, that he was raising to his chest now that the other had been stopped by Quentin. “ _Stop!_ ”

Daken sobbed, but offered no resistance. Quentin had never been more grateful for the conditioning and he felt nauseous at such thought.

“Let me _go_ ,” begged Daken, “If you don't want to, at least let me –”

“Let you do what?” _Kill yourself?_ God, no. He held Daken's arms away from his body.

“Hurt me. Punish me, hurt me, _hurt_ me, please, _please_ –”

“I can't.” His heart bled at the sight, at the plea, but he couldn't. He couldn't hurt Daken. And maybe Daken was asking for it and he could stop him... but maybe he _couldn't_ , or he would force himself to take more than he could possibly take, and all of that notwithstanding, Quentin couldn't, no, _wouldn't_ lay a finger on Daken. “I won't. I told you that I'd never harm you, Daken. Don't ask me to.”

Daken laughed. He lowered his head to Quentin's chest and laughed, a hysterical fit that verged on crying, his hands shaking in Quentin's hold - but he didn't try to free himself. He laughed, and Quentin could only wait it out, hope for the best.

It died out soon; and Daken rubbed his face against Quentin's chest, Quentin's neck. “Of course you won't,” he murmured against Quentin's throat. “You won't, you wouldn't, I can trust you not to. Quentin, Quentin, Quentin, Quentin –” There was a fervent reverence in the way he was chanting his name, that made Quentin's heart ache. Daken's fingers relaxed, his claws went back into his arms, and he leant into Quentin like the night before – God, had it really been just a day ago? - as if he were falling, falling, falling onto an abyss, and Quentin was the only thing that kept him this side of the edge.

His name sounded like a prayer, like an invocation, and he wanted to answer, but he didn't know what to do. He wanted to fix everything, but he couldn't. He wanted – oh, he wanted to relieve Daken.

Maybe this was enough. Maybe he could hold Daken through it. He wanted nothing more. He could be a haven, a safe harbor. He could.

Daken raised his head, eyes feverish. “Fuck me.”

Quentin felt the blood freeze in his veins. The non sequitur was alarming because it _didn't_ sound like one. It sounded like a direct consequence, as if there was an equation between punishment and hurting and sex. The last two were known to Quentin; the correlation with the first one made him blanch. Asking for that in lieu of punishment was horrifyingly close to rape.

It reminded him of Tokyo, of his own horrid request of that night. He, too, had felt he'd deserved it, for what he'd done to Daken in the cemetery – and God, how horrified Daken had been at hearing it. If he could see how wrong Quentin's words had been, how couldn't he see that he was doing the same now?

Or perhaps he _did_ see it. He wanted to hurt, to _be_ hurt, and this... was this the closest way? Could it be?

Daken didn't seem to be paying any kind of attention to Quentin's reaction, to his stillness. He was – God – reaching up, placing small kisses against Quentin's jaw. “Fuck me,” he murmured, “Burn me. Burn me, make me whole –”

“Daken –”

“You burn so bright, so bright. Burn me. Please, fuck me. Please –” He reached Quentin's mouth, kept brushing his lips against Quentin's so softly yet so desperately, the words mingling with his kisses, and the shakiness of his voice finally touched a chord in Quentin.

He yielded. There was no harm in kissing Daken like this, in holding him; he let go of Daken's hands, wrapped his arms around him. He wouldn't do anything more. No, he wouldn't. It wasn't right.

Daken's kisses were feverish, his voice a broken record. He shut his eyes, pressed himself hard against Quentin like the night before, as if he could hide there – as if Quentin could swallow him whole. ' _Make me whole_ ,' he sobbed, and ' _burn me, burn me, burn me_ ,' and ' _fuck me_ ,' as if it could heal him – as if it could make him forget. ' _Make me whole_ ,' as if he were incomplete – as if he were torn apart, broken beyond repair. ' _Burn me,'_ and his kisses were scorching with the raw need, with the violent desperation. It wasn't just because of his children – it couldn't be just that. The way he'd reacted to Laura's touch – and the request for punishment, the mention of his usage of pheromones, Eike killing nir abuser – it was all connected. It was all connected, and it was tearing at him from the inside.

 _What's haunting you_ , Quentin wanted to ask, but he knew he couldn't, not now. Daken wasn't really there. He was with Quentin, but he _wasn't_ at the same time. He was shaking, and now –

Now he reached behind, untied his hair with a few sharp pulls, his hair falling against his shoulders.

Heart hammering in his ears, Quentin tilted his head back. “No, Daken.”

Daken opened his eyes and it was _worse_ , to see how haunted they were. “Please –”

“I can't. You're not –”

“I want you to.” And he attacked Quentin again, brushed his lips against Quentin's face in a frenzy, body flush to Quentin's, pushing, and pushing, rubbing himself against Quentin, hips to hips, the motion successful in its purpose – Quentin backed away as much as he could while still holding Daken, his cock pulsing in protest. Daken sobbed, chased Quentin's face to kiss him. “I trust you. You said you'd trust me to know, I need it, I need this, please, please burn me, fuck me, _please_ –”

It was the rawness in his voice – how broken, small, defeated it was – that gave Quentin pause. It was true, what Daken was saying was true – they'd discussed it at length. He'd told Daken that he'd trust him. But could Daken be trusted with such a decision, given the tumult he was experiencing? Quentin couldn't know how Daken felt right now, but it was clear that, no matter how unhealthy it was, or _how_ had he come to develop such coping methods, he felt he needed this with a terrifying certainty.

And if Quentin failed to deliver... all it took was a moment of distraction on his part, and Daken could try to cope in other, more dangerous ways. Daken could try to hurt himself, and do much more damage than what Quentin could possibly do.

Wasn't this the lesser evil?

God. Quentin pulled back from Daken's frantic kisses to look upon his devastated features, his pleading eyes. Blood and tears mixed on his cheeks, he looked on the verge of breaking. Quentin could hold him through it, shield the worst. Give Daken what he needed, in the smallest amount possible.

Even through the veil of tears, Daken saw the decision form on his face, and he bit down a sob. “Th-thank you –”

“Daken.” Quentin rested his forehead against the man's. “I want you to know – to understand – that I don't enjoy seeing you like this. I'm not –” _I'm not Romulus_ , he wanted to say, but that name was a ghost between them, a monster hiding in the shadows.

What he meant by that was that he didn't enjoy Daken's suffering. He didn't look forward to what would come next, but if he could... if he could take just a little of that pain off Daken's shoulders, then it would be worth it.

It should be brief, not drawn out – he couldn't possibly manage a long scene. Neither of them could, but he didn't even think he could maintain his erection.

“I know.” Daken pressed his forehead to his, their noses brushing. “I'm s-s-sorry. I'm forcing you to this, aren't I? I'm r-r-r-”

“No you're _not_ ,” Quentin corrected him immediately, his heart aching at Daken's doubt. “You're not. No one's forcing no one here. It's consensual. I want to help you, Daken.” It was a horrifying mirroring of their first time, of that damn cemetery, of Quentin pushing and pushing, caught up in his pain, until Daken had finally yielded – but it wasn't rape. Daken couldn't possibly think that.

But with what Eike had said, it was impossible for it not to come to Daken's mind. How could he make Daken see – make him understand that there was _trust_ here, that he trusted Daken as Daken trusted him? That he wasn't forcing Quentin, like Eike had accused him of doing?

The answer came with clarity, sudden and twisted; and with it came the knowledge that it was the kind of twisted that was part of them – that had been so from the beginning.

Quentin exhaled. “I want to help you,” he reiterated firmly against Daken's shaking head. “I'm here for you –”

“I'm sorry -”

“Don't be.” Quentin caught Daken's hands. “You'll have to help me along the way.” He entwined his fingers with Daken's. “Do you think you can do that?”

“He-help?” Daken was blinking to get rid of the tears clouding his eyes, but no matter how may times he did so, they still kept coming. Quentin raised his head to brush kisses against his wet cheeks, like the previous night. Daken heaved a tremulous sigh at the gesture, his fingers tightening around Quentin's.

“Help,” Quentin murmured gently, placing a kiss under Daken's right eye. “With my erection.”

Daken stepped up hesitantly, bringing their bodies together once more. “You're... hard al-already.”

“Yes.” Quentin kissed the tears away from under Daken's left eye, then pulled back; Daken would need to see him as he said it – would need to see that Quentin meant what he was about to say. “That's a physiological reaction. The rest – what you need – needs me to stay that way. And I don't know if I can. Would you mind keeping me hard, Daken?” he asked softly. Daken held his breath. “With your pheromones,” Quentin added.

Daken exhaled, then inhaled again, his breathing quickly turning uneven, panicked - but this time he reined his pheromones in. How much did it cost, really, to control them like this when he was so upset?

“Daken,” murmured Quentin. “Daken, it's all right.”

Daken's hands were shaking. His whole body was; new tears were streaking his cheeks. “You t-t-trust me with them?” His voice was broken at the edges, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. _He's joking_ , he must be thinking; it didn't take telepathy to know it. _He can't trust me, because I'm not to be trusted._

And that, simply, wasn't true.

“Daken, I trust you with everything.” Quentin spoke clearly. Daken hiccuped, squeezed Quentin's hands.

“You d-d-don't know what you're talking about.”

“I do. I _do_.” Quentin bent to kiss Daken's cheek, his eye. “Remember that... that night,” Quentin said gently, referring to the cemetery. “I told you that I wouldn't have cared if you were using them on me, even then. I trust you, Daken. I do.”

“I'd feel like I'm using you, and I'm not.” Daken's voice was surprisingly clear, strong against the waver beneath. “I would never.”

“And I know that.” Quentin pulled back and looked upon Daken. The man was looking back at him, eyes feverish, searching his face for some uncertainty that most certainly wasn't there. That would never be there. “I trust you, Daken.”

Like a spell, the third time struck true, and Daken believed him. Quentin could see it, the change too luminous to miss: it was in the way Daken's features crumbled and reassembled themselves, in the way his eyes lit. In the way his trembling stopped, in his smile – a little thing, a broken smile, heartbreaking and sad but a smile nonetheless. Had he really believed that Quentin didn't trust him? Or was it so internalized that he hadn't even _thought_ about it – that he'd just kept controlling himself with painstaking attention?

And yet, he still appeared unsure, his eyes still searched Quentin's face for doubt. Quentin squeezed his hands.

“You're worried. You're scared it will scare me,” he guessed, and Daken started slightly, and nodded. “It won't.” Quentin brought up their hands, then closed one of Daken's in a fist. “I'm not scared of you, Daken.” He kissed between Daken's knuckles – where the claws went out – and placed the fist against his chest. Daken looked at his own hand with wide, tear-filled eyes. “No part of you scares me.” The other hand, Quentin led up to cup his own cheek, and he turned his head to kiss Daken's wrist, his lips brushing gently against the spot from which sprang the claw. “I see you.”

“ _Quentin_ ,” Daken choked out, such emotion in his voice that Quentin's chest tightened.

“Yes. Let me be here for you, Daken. Go on.” He raised a hand to cup Daken's cheek. “You have my permission.”

Daken inhaled shakily, as if to prepare himself –

At first, it was slow. A slow creeping heat, a warmth filling Quentin's veins; then a pulsation, a raw sheer need, drums in his ears, all blood converging down. His cock, that had half-softened, grew hard again; he could hear his breath quicken, desire rushing through his body. The Phoenix screeched, aroused, and Quentin exhaled, and couldn't stop his body from rocking against Daken's, the pressure was delicious but not enough –

And throughout it all Daken looked at him, looked at him with those sad, sad eyes, body yielding to Quentin's pressing, hands grasping at Quentin's costume, waiting, and waiting, and waiting for Quentin, lips parted, and those sounds from the back of his throat, those quiet whimpers, those begging desperate noises –

Quentin slid his hand to Daken's nape and pulled him hard against himself, then crashed his mouth on him.

He was on fire, he was burning, he was everything. He was devouring Daken's mouth, biting at Daken's lips, his tongue was liquid fire and it pushed at Daken's and scorched it. Daken moaned, and it was half-a-scream. Quentin cloaked them. This time, Daken would scream. This time, he would cry and let go of everything, with the knowledge that he could, that Quentin was there and would hold him close. That Quentin would help him.

Quentin got a fistful of Daken's hair and yanked hard, breaking the kiss. Daken's breath hitched – he could see it: he could see the change in Quentin's face, in Quentin's eyes, as Quentin channeled the Phoenix.

Daken's lips were charred and glistening with saliva. His eyes glazed over, his cheeks reddened – by heat, by fear, by gratitude, by desire?

Quentin twisted Daken's hair in his fist, then pulled hard, so that Daken would expose his throat.

He bent to graze it with his teeth and felt Daken's pulse quicken. “You _need_ me, boy?” he managed to sneer at the first try, and he bit at the strong muscles of Daken's neck. They tensed like a chord as Daken whimpered. “Speak up, boy. Let me hear your _request_.”

“ _Master_ ,” gasped Daken; his hands let go of Quentin's costume as if it were burning.

And why not let it be so? Quentin summoned the Phoenix's flames. He kept them from actually burning – but the heat was there.

Daken cried out, breath quickening, and he pushed weakly against Quentin.

“Ah-ah-ah,” chided Quentin. He put his other hand to Daken's hip to still him as he yanked harder at his hair with the other, his teeth grazing the tender flesh at the base of Daken's neck. “Now, boy, don't be shy. Tell me.”

“M-m-mast-”

“My patience isn't unlimited, boy.” Quentin allowed the hand at Daken's hip to burn. Daken moaned.

“Please –”

“Yes. _Tell me_ , boy.”

“Please f-f-fuck me, master. Please –”

Quentin pulled back abruptly, Daken a shivering mess in front of him, eyes feverish – almost unseeing. “Fuck you,” repeated Quentin, still yanking Daken's hair. “You _ask_ me to fuck you?”

“Yes, master, please, _please_ –”

“You offer yourself, like a cheap whore?”

Daken sobbed violently. “ _Yes_ –” Once again, tears began to stream down his cheeks.

Quentin paused at the sight. “And your color's green?”

“Yes, yes, _yes_ –” The vehemence seemed so _wrong_ , coupled with the tears, but if Daken said it was fine, then it was fine.

“Very well.” Quentin let go of Daken's hair and lowered his hand to Daken's cheek while allowing his fingers to burn. Daken whimpered at the touch, leaning into it as if he craved it. “So be it, boy. Your presumption amuses me. I'll fuck you.” Daken shut his eyes, his lips moving – was it a thanks? “I'll fuck you so hard that you'll _scream_. And no one will be able to hear you, boy.” Quentin planted his full palm to Daken's cheek, let it burn. He removed his hand immediately, but not before Daken moaned – loud, with something breaking within it, something hard as tears came more copious now.

Steeling himself, Quentin stepped away. “Strip. And be quick about it, boy.”

Daken obeyed. It was different from the slow message of devotion of the previous night, different because of how rushed it was... because of the small sobs Daken emitted as he yanked at the strings that held the padded vest in place and let it fall to the floor, where it was followed by the upper part of his costume, the jika tabi, the belt, his underwear.

He stood naked, and there was nothing sexual in the way he was postured, no desire on his grief-stricken face.

It was a sight that would have never stirred Quentin, had he been in his right mind; a sight that evoked compassion and love – a sight that couldn't possibly provoke erotic thoughts. Only a monster could desire to have sex with someone that looked this bared and hurting: only a monster could be aroused at the sight.

Luckily, Quentin had help. His cock kept hard and pulsing in his pants, his blood kept rushing in his veins, his heart kept hammering in his ears. Despite what he knew and thought, he wanted Daken. God, his body was aching at the raw need.

He reached Daken, who stood still and quietly waiting; he trailed his fingers over the signs on Daken's hips, the signs he'd left the night before. They still hadn't healed – he feared they wouldn't. Gritting his teeth, Quentin trailed his fingers up Daken's stomach and chest to his chin, which he lifted forcefully. There was, yet again, a veil of tears in Daken's eyes; his cheeks were drying due to the heat Quentin exuded.

“Very nice.” Quentin's voice came out strangled. Whether it was due to desire or sorrow, he didn't want to know.

Daken sobbed.

Yet again, it gave Quentin pause. “What's your color, boy?”

“G-g-green.”

Quentin nodded. “On the bed, boy. On your knees, hands on the wall.” No matter how much the pheromones were working – he feared that, if he had his eyes on Daken's wrecked features all the time, he'd have to stop.

Daken went to obey – and the relative distance forming between them as he weakly climbed on the bed was like a sudden moment of clarity. This was horribly, morally _wrong_. Daken looked like a resigned victim on an altar, palms raised to the wall like a supplicant, waiting to be sacrificed –

And yet it was what Daken needed. It was but a simple request. Quentin had to be strong enough for the both of them, to guide them both through this moment.

He walked back into the fog of lust conscious of what he was doing, of what would come next. It hit him like a wave, and he undressed quickly, groaning in relief when he freed his cock.

Daken's face was hidden from view, his forehead pressed to the wall. He was shaking violently.

“Are you afraid, boy?”

“C-c-cold.” The voice was drowned by unseen tears.

“Cold?” Quentin climbed on the bed. It wasn't cold – the radiator was on. “Don't lie to me, boy.” Positioning himself behind Daken, Quentin reached out to grab a hold of his hair and pull his head backwards. Daken's eyes were squinted shut. “Are you scared? You should be.” With his free hand Quentin caught Daken by the waist and pulled him close. Daken was shaking terribly, a whine on his tears-wet lips. How deliciously he was pressed against Quentin! Quentin rolled his hips, a moan escaping his mouth when his cock rubbed against Daken's buttocks. Daken moaned in return, the sound mixed with a sob. “ _Are_ you afraid, boy?”

“Y-yes –”

“So you were lying? To _me_?” Quentin brushed his fingers against the burns at Daken's hips. “Whose are you, boy?”

“Yours – yours, master, _yours_ –” Daken sobbed, then hissed and groaned as Quentin pushed at the burns with burning fingers. The Phoenix, the Phoenix was screeching, and Quentin wanted, oh, he _wanted_ – he rocked against Daken slowly, drawing moans out of him... moans mixed with hiccups.

“Then why would you dare lie, whilst demanding a favor of me?” Hand trailing up, he traced every rib with burning fingers, then let go of Daken's hair to do the same to his other side. Daken's head fell back against the wall.

“M' _sorry_ –” it was a muffled sound, drowned by moans and sobs alike. He was moving back against Quentin, rubbing himself against him, and oh, it was _good_ , fuck, it was driving Quentin wild –

He fought to speak clearly through the haze of pleasure. “Speak up, boy.”

“I'm sorry, master, I wasn't, wasn't lying, cold, so cold, I – _ah_ –” Daken arched when Quentin cupped his soft cock with a burning palm. “Ma- _ahhhn_ –”

“It should warm you enough, boy.” Hands sliding up, and up, to Daken's chest, hips pushing against Daken, cock sliding against their sweat. “It should teach you not to lie.”

An endless litany of broken moans was his only answer, needy sounds mingled with sobs so violent that made Daken shake in Quentin's hold – a rather distracting motion.

Rocking harder against Daken, Quentin brought a hand to Daken's mouth and pushed three fingers between Daken's lips. “Wet them for me, boy. I don't want to hurt you _much_.” Daken whimpered, and sucked at them as he pressed back against him. Quentin wrapped his other arm around Daken's chest. “I will tear you apart. I will fuck you raw until you pass out.” Daken pushed back against him, shoulders shaking. He was sucking at Quentin's fingers in little fits and starts, and those sounds – they seemed quieter sobs. “Do you want me to, boy?”

Daken spoke – sobbed – as he sucked Quentin's fingers. “ _Yes_ -”

“Good boy. Open your legs for me.” Daken spread his legs wider, whimpering when Quentin's cock slid between his buttocks – he rubbed himself against Quentin, writhing, shaking. “So eager, are you?” Quentin slid his fingers out of Daken's mouth. Daken whined. “You're squirming like a whore.” Another one of those half-moan, half-sob. Daken pressed back against Quentin, desperate to be filled. Quentin tutted. “You're acting like a bitch in heat, boy.”

Daken cried out and stilled.

Quentin trailed his wet fingers down Daken's body, Daken's quick breathing filling his ears. Fuck, he couldn't wait to bury himself in Daken, he –

– blinked dazedly, the flames hurting his eyes. His hips were moving, but Daken was motionless against him. Quentin slowed his rocking, uncertain, aching to stop altogether. He didn't really want to do this. He shouldn't. He felt nauseous.

And through the haze he heard Daken's voice:

“R-r-red.”

The safeword dissipated the last tendrils of his pheromones-induced lust, hit him like a stone smashing a skull.

Horrified, Quentin stopped moving as he dismissed the flames; he carefully let go of Daken and moved back, sitting on his heels. Daken kept still, hands and forehead to the wall, his hitched breathing the only sound.

What had Quentin done? He shouldn't have agreed to this – God, he shouldn't have –

“Daken?” Torn between moving backwards and approaching, Quentin did neither, eyes fixed on the man in front of him, on the marks visible on his hips, on his shaking shoulders. “Daken, please talk to me.” _Tell me you're fine_.

Except he wasn't. Daken emitted a choking noise, but didn't answer.

“Daken, I need you to tell me what's wrong.” No answer; Daken's breathing came faster. Jesus, he'd fucked up. Quentin kept talking, desperate to reach Daken. “What can I do? May I come closer? May I touch you, Daken?” He should begin aftercare, but he wanted verbal permission to touch Daken first.

Daken shook his head and Quentin's stomach dropped.

“Okay.” At least it meant Daken was alert, despite the hyperventilation. “Okay. What can I do? Please tell –”

There was another choking noise. Daken stumbled out of the bed and almost fell, a hand slamming on the nightstand to hold himself upright, the other pressed to his mouth. Quentin moved to help, then stopped, unsure whether it would be well received. Their eyes met for a second – Daken's reddened eyes were squinted almost shut, tears still coming out – and then Daken broke into a desperate rush to the bathroom.

Despite the obvious urgency, he took some precious moments to close its door... to close Quentin out.

The retching noises began almost immediately.

Quentin sat, the sound filling his ears. He couldn't move – what had he done? Had he missed something – had the pheromones clouded his judgment, had he missed a signal of Daken's discomfort? He'd been sobbing – but that was fine, Daken had told him it was fine, Quentin had asked his color and it had been green...

But he hadn't checked in when things had gotten rougher, had he? He'd just – God – only been interested in fucking, his body aching with the need. Quentin shifted uncomfortably, his cock half-hard against his stomach; the gagging sounds still hadn't stopped.

He should have never agreed. It was his job to make sure things were okay before beginning, and they weren't. Daken _wasn't_ fine. He'd asked, yes, he'd _begged_ , but Quentin shouldn't have capitulated. Quentin didn't know if he'd done something wrong, but Daken sure as well was bound to be more sensitive, given the state he was in, and Quentin hadn't put that into consideration.

He'd fucked up.

Daken was still vomiting. God, how long had it been going on? Quentin was prompted to action, and he stood up, eyes on the mess of bloodied clothes on the floor. He couldn't enter the bathroom – the closed door was a signal too strong to be ignored – but he could make sure nothing would trigger Daken once he emerged from it.

Because he would emerge from it. Wouldn't he?

The traitorous thought made Quentin freeze. He'd gone through with Daken's request because he'd been afraid Daken would hurt himself. Now Daken was alone in the bathroom, and he could – God...

Hiro came to Quentin's mind, little Hiro who would stab himself, again and again and again, desperate to forget his nightmares – his muddy memories of Romulus' torture.

Quentin didn't think. He stood straight in the center of the room, facing the bathroom, and began chanting. The rhythm came easily, burned in his memory from years past.

“Naniwa-zu ni – Sakuya kono hana – Fuyu-gomori. Ima wo haru be to – Sakuya kono hana – Ima wo haru-be to – sakuya kono hana –”

He run through the tankas in order, only stopping for breath; mercifully, he'd only reached the third when Daken stopped vomiting. Quentin finished the tanka, “Naga-nagashi yo wo – hitori kamo nen,” as he heard the sound of running water – it seemed the sink. Daken would come out any second, and still Quentin was stark naked. Chanting the fourth tanka, he summoned a pair of boxers and a shirt from the dresser and quickly put them on, then went on to levitate their bloodied costumes to his closet.

He'd reached the fifth tanka and still Daken hadn't come out. Maybe he didn't want to – _Maybe he's cutting himself_ – maybe he needed time, time to collect himself – _He's cutting himself –_ he didn't want Quentin to enter the bathroom, he was still naked after all, and maybe he didn't want Quentin to see him – _he's cutting himself, he's cutting himself, God, he's –_

Quentin approached the door and softly tapped on it. “Daken?”

No answer. The water kept running – but now it was the shower, not the sink.

The first time Hiro had stabbed himself inside the school, it had been in a shower near Beast's lab.

He always looked for shower stalls when he could. He'd said that it was easier to hide; that the water would make the blood disappear and no one would notice –

“Daken, please answer.” A palm pressed to the door, Quentin tried to control his own breathing. ' _See? All gone_ ,' had said Hiro when Quentin had found him, on his face the satisfied smile of one who's done a good job, as if hiding was the only important thing – “I won't come in if you don't want me to. I only want to know you're fine.” _Fool. He's not fine._ “Please say something,” Quentin's voice cracked, his nails digging into the door.

He had to get inside.

It was a violation of Daken's wishes, a breaching of a wall he'd rightfully erected after Quentin had broken his trust... but he could be hurting himself right now, and Quentin had to stop him.

“Daken, I'm opening the door.” No answer. “I won't do it if you tell me not to – but you have to speak, please –” A hand around the knob, Quentin waited, hoping against hope for a sign, but there was none. “It's just to... to make sure you're fine, okay? Then I'll leave, if you want me to.” Quentin took a deep breath. “Okay. I'm coming in.”

He opened the door.

 

* * *

 

blood and vomit on the snow

the stench was overwhelming, was filling his nostrils

it kept coming, kept coming, filling his mouth

blood trailing down his thighs

screaming, screaming for help

no one cares

use them before they use you

it's not rape if I love you, right

but they enjoyed it

you're like the animal

you use pheromones to make people sleep with you

animal

all about power

you're a rapist

all about control

bitch in heat

animal

so beautiful, a pretty boy like you

everybody wants sex

bitch in heat

you're a rapist

undress and lie down for me

if I told you to, you would, wouldn't you

bitch in heat

animals, animals, can't control themselves

I'm coming

good boy

bitch in heat

they want it

bitch in heat

such a beautiful body

bitch in heat

like that, like that, oh, oh, like

bitch in heat

hurt me, destroy me, claim me, carve me

bitch in heat

 

 _Cold_.

“Daken?”

Cold, too cold.

“Daken, please – say something.”

Vomit on the snow.

“Can you hear me?”

Quentin. Quentin's voice, far, far away, Quentin, Quentin, _Quentin_ –

Quentin was warmth.

“Cold,” rasped Daken.

“Oh thank God.” The voice cracked. “Daken, can I come closer?”

“Cold.”

“Yeah. The water was scalding hot, Daken, it would have burnt you. May – may I come closer?”

“I hate cold.”

“Okay. I can – uh – I could raise the temperature with my flames. May I do that, Daken?”

_Burn me. Hurt me –_

_He won't. He_ wouldn't.

Warmth, warmth was good.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Warmth, blessed warmth. Flesh touching glass. “May I open the shower box, Daken?”

 _Hold me._ “Yes.”

Glass sliding, more warmth. Quentin's scent, residual stench of arousal, sweat. Agitated heartbeat. “God, Daken –”

_Hold me, hold me, hold me –_

_Bitch in heat._

Daken cried out.

“ _Daken?_ Are you in pain?”

Chest aching so much, so much. _He didn't know. It's not his fault_. Daken shook his head. If Quentin had fucked him in that moment... if he hadn't stopped... if the last thing he said before pushing inside Daken was _that_ , Daken would have died. Died on the snow, vomit in his mouth... _He stopped. He cares. Quentin cares._

_He was chanting tankas._

“Okay. You think you can open your eyes, Daken? Can you do that?” So much worry in the voice.

_I made him worry. I hurt him._

Daken opened his eyes. He blinked against the residual steam from the hot water.

Quentin knelt on the floor just outside the box, some sparks around him, and exhaled heavily when Daken looked at him. “Hey,” he breathed, hand grasping at the glass panel, the other at his pale thigh. He'd put on boxers, and a shirt.

“Hey.”

Quentin's features were contorted in worry, his eyes fixed on Daken's as if he didn't dare look elsewhere. “How do you feel?” He winced as the words left his mouth.

“You're here,” Daken said simply.

“Yeah. How do you –”

“I'm fine.”

Quentin grimaced as if he didn't believe him. But he was. Quentin was here, and all would be fine. “Are you... are you comfortable telling me what's wrong?”

What was wrong? Everything. He was a monster, and his child rightfully hated him for that. He was an animal, and he'd been made one. He'd chosen to, he'd told himself lies, but that choice had been provoked; he'd been molded into something he hated, a bitch in heat, an animal, a creature too disgusting to look upon, he'd whored himself and had forced others, had forced everyone involved, even _himself_ , God –

And _God_ , Quentin could still bear to look at him, still cared about him –

“He's a cancer,” he choked out. _I'll never be free from him._ Quentin understood; there was no need to say anything else.

“He's dead,” Quentin said softly. Daken nodded, a lump in his throat, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. Romulus was dead. Dead and gone.

He'd never leave Daken.

Twenty years had passed, and he could still ruin everything. Twenty years, and the smallest thing could bring it all back, could make Daken drop everything and focus on himself instead of his children – he'd hurt, disappointed, _failed_ his children and here he was, sitting on the cold tile, arms around his legs, as if his own pain was more important than his children –

Daken hid his face against his knees.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“ _No_.” His voice cracked. _Please don't_.

“Okay. I'll stay here, Daken. I'm here.”

Daken shook his head. He couldn't sit still and do nothing... he had to... he had to do something, the clones, find the clones for Eike – for Raze, nir name was Raze now, he kept forgetting, kept hoping... How much would this change nem? What would ne become? Ne hadn't looked _fine_ when ne'd come to the past, not _at all_. But maybe ne wouldn't be as damaged and cruel as Daken. Ne'd killed Creed – ne'd had closure... but at what cost? He'd never wanted this for nem. God, what had happened to his child – how had he let it happen?

He tried to move... he slipped to the side, against the glass. He let out a defeated sound.

“You want to stand up?” Quentin's voice shook. “Okay. I'll – can I touch you, Daken? Can I hold your hands?”

Still he asked, careful not to overstep any boundaries. Daken sobbed, tears coming yet again. “Yes – yes, please.” He furiously dried his eyes and cheeks, then held his hands out.

Quentin took them hesitantly, and helped him stand with great caution, as if he were handling an invalid.

And he was, in a way. Daken had never felt more exhausted than in that moment, steps careful on the wet tile; find the clones? What the hell did he think he could do right now? He couldn't even stand upright. He was just a ridiculous old man.

And he'd never felt more mortified than now, as he saw Quentin study the drain with alert eyes, nostrils wide, as if he feared to find something there, as if he were trying to discern if he could smell something –

Blood, probably. He was looking for blood.

“I haven't drawn my claws,” Daken said tiredly.

Quentin looked back at him. “I –”

“It's all right. You were right to check.” Daken stepped out of the shower onto the soft mat. “You know, if I stabbed myself, I wouldn't heal that fast. You'd have noticed.”

Quentin grimaced. “You almost unsheathed them earlier.”

“Yes.”

“You wanted to –”

“Yes.” Daken stood, water dripping down his body. Quentin was rigid in front of him; his eyes still wouldn't lower past Daken's face, but were fixed on Daken's, and they were shining with worry.

“Do you still want to –”

“No, I don't want to hurt myself. You can say it, Quentin.”

Quentin squeezed his hands. “Daken,” he spoke softly, “It's all right. You can tell me. You're not alone –”

“I know,” choked out Daken, overwhelmed by the words. “I really don't, Quentin. You're here.”

Quentin inhaled sharply, but nodded. “Okay. Can you – you think you can stand without my help?”

 _Don't leave me._ “I – I don't know.”

“Okay. That's all right.” A bath towel levitated in their direction, then wrapped itself around Daken. The cloth gently pressed itself against him, drying his skin with small circling motions.

It was like being surrounded by Quentin's warm presence. Daken blinked fast, desperately willing the sudden tears away.

The cloth stilled around him. “Daken? Is this okay?” Quentin was looking at him with such concern, such – dare he think it? _Dare_ he? – such love in his eyes... Daken nodded, unable to speak.

The towel resumed its motion, and Daken stepped up, onto the cold floor of the bathroom, into Quentin's space, and pressed his lips to Quentin's.

It wasn't a kiss. Just standing so close was enough – standing close to Quentin, brushing their lips together. He wanted nothing more.

Quentin tilted his head back. “Daken.”

“Yes.” Daken stood, breathing Quentin's breath. Quentin's eyes shone with worry but there was nothing to worry about. He was there, and Daken could bare himself completely. Quentin wouldn't use it.

He leant closer, but Quentin turned his head away, and Daken's kiss landed on his cheek. “Daken, no.”

“Why?” Daken moved back, just an inch, to meet Quentin's eyes. What was wrong? It was fine. Daken was fine. And he wanted, oh, he wanted Quentin to hold him.

“You're not fine. And we can't – you need to sleep.” Oh. Of course; he thought that Daken still wanted to have sex. But he was fine now. He didn't want to hurt himself. And he could trust Quentin – he knew he could. Even as the pheromones clouded his judgment, he'd taken care of Daken. Even as they still filled his nostrils, he'd heeded Daken's safeword. He'd stopped.

“Yes. Let's go to bed,” murmured Daken, and he kissed Quentin's cheek, the corner of his mouth. He craved Quentin's arms around him, their bodies pressed together, Quentin's fingers running through his hair. He let go of Quentin's hand – just one; he didn't trust himself on his feet yet – and grabbed at Quentin's shirt, and pressed himself against Quentin. Quentin could embrace him now; but he just put his hand on Daken's shoulder, and shook him gently, head tilting back once more.

“No... no, Daken, no. Not while you're like this. I can't.”

It's all right, he wanted to say, heart tightening, it's all right, it's all right. It had never been what he wanted, just the easiest way to it. Pain, warmth, power, control, money, pleasure. It had always been the only thing he'd been wanted for. But Quentin, oh, Quentin didn't care. He was safe with Quentin. It was as if Quentin knew.

But Daken couldn't say it. He resumed the kiss, slow, gentle, to convey it all, to tell Quentin not to worry, it was all right, it really was _–_ but Quentin stepped back, eyes so terribly sad. “Stop. I'm – I'm going to get you some clothes, okay?”

_Don't. Don't, you're supposed to understand, you're supposed to –_

Quentin led him to the sink and placed Daken's hands on its edge. “Here,” he choked out. “Hold on to this, I'll be right back.”

He fled the bathroom.

Daken wanted to cry out, but he had no air in his lungs. The towel was falling from him, as if Quentin were so upset he'd just forgot to hold it in place with his telekinesis. This was what came out of being what he was. He'd just wanted Quentin to hold him and Quentin thought he still wanted to _fuck_ after all that had just happened, after the vomit and the sobbing... and of course Quentin was upset, hating himself maybe, for not putting an end to it earlier, for submitting to Daken's horrible request, and now, oh, now it was all rotten, and ruined, torn apart and falling, falling –

The towel fell to the floor as Daken moved, bracing himself on the sink, the towel bar, the doorjamb.

Quentin stood in front of his dresser, seemingly looking into a drawer, his posture rigid, head lowered. He had a hand pressed to his mouth, but Daken could hear.

He was crying. Daken had made him _cry_.

Slowly, slowly, he made his way to Quentin. He called him, voice cracking, but Quentin wouldn't turn.

So he embraced him. He embraced him from behind, arms tightly wrapped around Quentin's chest. “I'm sorry,” he whispered against Quentin's shoulder, “I'm sorry, please don't cry, it's all right, I swear –” He pressed himself to him, wanting to envelop him with his own warmth, to reassure Quentin as Quentin reassured him... with his mere presence, his closeness. But Quentin only cried harder.

“It's not all right,” he sobbed. “Please _stop_ , don't ask me to, I can't do this to you, I can't –”

Why didn't he understand? Why? He was supposed to. He was supposed to know; he always knew what was right. He always, always knew.

It broke Daken's heart, to hear him cry. He couldn't bear it, oh, he couldn't bear the sound, it hurt so much. Holding him had worked when he'd talked about Evan, why not now?

Because he was crying _because_ of Daken. He thought that Daken holding him so tightly meant that Daken wanted something else, and he didn't want to hurt Daken, it horrified him. Sweet Quentin. How could Daken deserve him –

He sure didn't deserve Quentin, if he couldn't even speak, if he couldn't tell Quentin it was all right and be clear about it. But oh, he couldn't – he couldn't –

Quentin sobbed harder, clutching at Daken's hand, and Daken couldn't take it anymore, and spoke through decades of silence, forced his voice past those of his teachers in the red district of a nameless city, past the moans of the thousands he'd fucked, past Romulus' voice saying everyone, everyone, _everyone_ wants sex.

“But I don't want you to.” He hiccuped, horrified, but couldn't, shouldn't, mustn't stop. “I don't want you to, I'm not asking you to, I'm not trying to have sex, I don't –” breath catching, stopping. He tightened his hold on Quentin, Quentin was here, warm and safe and deserved the truth. “I don't, don't want to have sex.”

He'd never said that out loud.

He'd never –

 _Oh, God, God_ –

“I don't want to have sex,” he repeated. It was easier to say now, easier, he could breathe now, he could – God... “I don't want to have sex, I just want you to hold me, it's all right, _it's all right_ , please don't cry, please,” he begged, rubbing his forehead against Quentin's shoulder, pressing himself against Quentin with all his might, willing Quentin to understand, to _understand_ –

Quentin's hold on his hand weakened, his sobs stopped. He was sniffling – he was still crying – but they were quiet tears now. “You don't want to have sex?”

“No.” He half-expected an amused, cruel, mocking laughter to echo in his ears, but Romulus was dead. He was dead, and he'd been wrong. He'd been wrong about a lot of things, and this only added to the long list.

“Of course you don't want to,” muttered Quentin, his hands resting lightly atop Daken's. “How could I even think – You've just thrown up! I've just betrayed your trust...”

“You didn't betray anything. You stopped, Quentin. I said the safeword, and you stopped. That's all right.”

“I... I...” Quentin sighed. “I meant – of _course_ you didn't want to, not after being triggered, and yet I still _thought_ you did, because... Daken, I'm sorry, I... I have this horrible idea that you d-don't know anything else. That you think you have an... an obligation to sex. That you think sex is the only way people have to comfort each other.”

 _And it's the truth_. Wasn't it, in the end? Couldn't he admit it, here and now, his body pressed to Quentin's? What was pleasuring one's partner if not an obligation, if one didn't even feel the need for it? Sex felt good, yes, but it was also the only way he'd ever had. It was the way he'd been taught to pursue to control people, and it _was_ the way people comforted each other with. The way people connected with each other. It was very few people he'd wanted to be connected with, and he'd had to go through it for that to happen.

But with Quentin, he could just say no and blame it on his age, and they'd hold each other, and Quentin wouldn't leave. He'd still get hard, and very frequently at that – and Daken was happy to take care of it, he was happy to pleasure Quentin, but that was an obligation just like the others.

But Quentin didn't mean any of that. He hadn't understood, not really, not completely, the depth of what Daken had forced himself to say. He still thought Daken experienced sexual attraction; he was just worried about how he acted on it. He apparently worried about Daken forcing himself to have sex in certain given situations, he feared that Daken saw sex as an instrument and nothing more... but he hadn't understood that he did that every time – that he didn't feel that need.

How horrible it was, that he knew perfectly well what not wanting sex was like, and still he'd submitted thousands to it? Not everyone he'd had sex with had been influenced by pheromones, but enough of them to make Daken's stomach churn now, after Raze's accusation.

They hadn't suffered like Daken had at the hands of Romulus – they'd enjoyed it – they'd wanted it – they'd wanted Daken upon seeing him, _before_ the pheromones lured them in, because the pheromones didn't work if one wasn't already attracted to Daken –

But those were all excuses. How horrifyingly pitiable it was, how disgusting, that he'd raped them, but he hadn't ever really given thought to it, because they were already aroused? He'd mocked them instead, he'd thought himself better, because he didn't feel that animal instinct, that urge to fuck someone upon seeing them. He'd felt a vindictive satisfaction, because he was using those animals before they used him. Because they fell prey to instincts he didn't have. And it felt wrong to even think it now, it felt as if he was switching the focus on himself instead than on those nameless people he'd wronged, but he couldn't help but feel violated as well, violated by himself, by the choice to use sex he had never wanted –

“Daken?” Quentin, a hand lightly put above Daken's, brought him back... to the reality of what had prompted his own breakdown.

He felt _violated_? When, in truth, it was the other way around?

It was an insulting comparison. Daken was disgusted he'd even made it. Bringing attention to it now felt so terribly disrespectful. He wouldn't; there was no need to. It didn't matter if Quentin hadn't understood – he still was so achingly attentive, despite Daken being a monster. “Yes. I was – thinking about what Raze said. About me, forcing people -”

“Don't.” Quentin's voice was urgent. “Don't think about it now.”

“But I have to. Ne's right.”

“It's in the past.” Quentin spoke quietly. “It's terrible, it's horrible, but you don't do that anymore, Daken. Don't torture yourself over it. Don't – don't compare yourself to him.”

Daken inhaled sharply. “I was so sure,” he said, hearing the strain in his own voice, “so sure I was better. So sure! But I'm not.”

“Daken –”

“How am I different – how can I even be sure I didn't _make_ him do it to me, because I wanted so desperately to stay with him, he'd taken me in, and I –”

“ _Daken!_ ” Quentin turned in his arms, eyes wide and horrified. Daken broke off, horrified himself. He'd never thought such a thing. But it wasn't so far from the realm of possibilities, was it?

No. God, _no_. It was like blaming a kid that sought affection from an adult and got assaulted instead. But –

Quentin cupped his cheek. “Daken. What happened to you wasn't your fault,” he said softly, in a quiet controlled voice. “You didn't _make_ Romulus hurt you. He's always had his eyes on you. He _knew_ about the pheromones.” He took a breath, and then said firmly: “You didn't make him rape you, Daken.”

“I –” Daken hiccuped. He knew that. He knew that Romulus had chosen to control him that way. He wondered if Romulus had ever understood how deeply he'd carved Daken. Daken had never said anything, but – oh, of course Romulus had known very well. It must have amused him greatly. “I just – I _know_ you're right. I know it wasn't my fault. But the others –” All those people. All those he'd used. “All the others –”

Quentin's gaze hardened. “I made you think such things. I made those horrible comments and –”

“No, you're right. Those were right. I don't know any other way.” A whore. “That's why I've always used my pheromones, and that's why I asked you to – to –” He sobbed. He'd wanted Quentin to hurt him.

He hadn't wanted Quentin to fuck him, he'd wanted him to _hurt_ him. Oh, he'd briefly wanted to be comforted, to be knitted together – if there was one that could, it was Quentin. Quentin could make him whole. But then he'd known he didn't deserve it. He'd wanted Quentin to punish him for what he'd done to his children. Maybe some part of him had even wanted Quentin to make him relive Romulus' torture, oh, he didn't know. He only knew that he couldn't bear it... that if they'd gone through with it, if he hadn't stopped Quentin, he'd have destroyed what they had beyond repair.

Because he would have never been able to look Quentin in the eyes again if they'd fucked with those words ringing in his ears, with his knees sinking in the snow, with the blood trailing down his thighs...

Another sob escaped his mouth and Quentin cupped his other cheek. “Daken. What you need right now is sleep. Tomorrow – tomorrow you'll deal with everything. But you can't beat yourself over this, over and over again. You're just hurting yourself.”

“Sleep,” he repeated, voice cracking. How could he sleep?

“Yes, sleep. Come on.” Quentin gently extricated himself from Daken's embrace to catch a long-sleeved pajama from the drawer. “Here. You said you were cold and I still haven't given you anything! God, you must be freezing!” Wide eyes lowering to Daken's chest, he seemed to have just now realized that Daken had abandoned the towel in the bathroom. He looked up in haste, then turned his head, as if giving Daken privacy. It was almost as if he thought Daken didn't want to be seen naked.

Daken caught the pajama. “Thank you.” He wondered where was his costume, then sniffed the trail of Creed's blood: it seemed to come from Quentin's closet.

The temperature in the room rose even more, but it wasn't Quentin's flames – he'd vanished them. Maybe he'd turned up the radiator.

“I wasn't really cold,” he felt compelled to confess as he wore the pajama. Its soft fabric was covered with Quentin's scent, lent Daken Quentin's warmth. “I was... reminiscing.” He embraced himself, the mere thought making him shudder once again.

Quentin nodded, eyes fixed on the bed as he moved the covers away with his telekinesis. His cheeks were still wet with the earlier tears, and the sight made Daken's chest ache. God, how could Quentin bear all of this? How could he bear to hold Daken upright? “Do you want to talk about it?” he even asked now, voice tight, and Daken found himself considering it, and hated himself for it. How could he add such a burden to Quentin's shoulders? How could he whisper such a horrific tale like a good night story?

Instead of answering, he carefully approached the bed, and climbed on it. He lay on his side, then settled his head on the pillow – he sniffed.

“You've changed the sheets from this morning.”

“Yes.” Quentin got closer and hovered uncertainly on the other side, as if waiting for Daken's permission to use his _own_ bed. “Why?”

“Nothing. I'm glad you did.” Daken pressed his face against the clean fabric. “They stank of sex.”

He was, evidently, more exhausted than he'd thought. He stilled at the slip of the tongue, but Quentin didn't seem to mind, or didn't realize. He just stood there, soft eyes gazing down at Daken.

“Do you still want me to sleep with you?” he asked, voice so gentle. What sort of question was that?

“It's your room.”

“I can crash elsewhere. If you're uncomfortable –”

“Quentin, don't be ridiculous.” Daken shook his head. “I want you to, I – it's easier to sleep when you hold me.” Quentin's eyes softened even more. “Please. Please lie here with me.”

“If you're sure –”

There was a soft tap at the door. Quentin looked up, but he didn't seem surprised. Was it Laura, coming to check on him? God, he'd been horrible to her too. Eik- _Raze_ had killed her, she'd been just as invested in the clones' research as they all were, if not more... but she hadn't let all of that crush her. She'd tried to talk reason into Daken, she'd tried to stop him from tearing at Maiko as he had – God, his Maiko, why had he said those things? What had he done to her? He'd turned her into a version of himself, someone who didn't care about who got hurt, only about the results, and his child... his child, his Raze, taken and tortured and broken, that had confessed what ate at nem only to discover nir father was a liar who could have protected nem and hadn't, a monster who was just like nir torturer –

Daken pressed his face to the pillow to muffle his sobs. Laura would have heard them anyway... but the soft voice coming from the doorway wasn't hers.

“How is he?” asked Okonkwo, and there was no answer. Either Quentin couldn't speak, finally overwhelmed by the magnitude of what he was dealing with, or they were conversing telepathically, so that Daken couldn't hear.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually Quentin came back inside. Okonkwo's voice followed him. “Good – good night, Daken,” she said hesitantly.

He couldn't answer. Hadn't she heard about what had happened in the laboratory? Hadn't she heard he'd abandoned his child years ago? Hadn't she heard what he used to do? She'd expressed doubts over him ever since the beginning. Wasn't she right? Didn't she hate him for what he was... for making Quentin cry? She must have seen his tears-stricken cheeks.

Quentin closed the door. “It was Idie.”

“I heard.” Daken dried his tears on the pillow, then turned his head to speak more clearly.

“I asked her to bring some water.” Quentin walked into his line of sight, a bottle in a hand, a glass in the other. “You vomited a lot, you need to hydrate.” His cheeks were dry now, his eyes focused. It was the same bright gaze he'd worn at the facility, the gaze that said everything would be all right.

How could he want to stand beside Daken after everything? How could Daken let him do it, knowing it would soon end? How could he want it, how could he crave it... knowing how selfish it was of him? Quentin held him upright, but oh, he deserved someone who could do the same for him. He'd promised Quentin he'd be that: he'd promised Quentin that he'd be there for him, but what had he been lately, if not a nuisance?

Quentin knelt on the bed, next to him, and looked down at him, gaze firm and reassuring. “Okay,” he murmured, “Do you think you can sit up?”

Daken mustered up the strength he had left to do so, slowly dragging himself upright, then rested his head against the headboard. How could he submit Quentin to this, truly? How could Quentin _want_ this?

Quentin held the glass to his mouth. “Here. Little sips, okay?” Chest aching painfully, Daken sipped the water. It was like a balm for his lips, charred by that first burning kiss and now healed, but still chapped. It washed the lump down his throat, eased the knots in his stomach. Quentin was humming to the rhythm he'd chanted tankas to, and it was so achingly soothing.

He finished the water.

“More?”

At his nod, Quentin refilled the glass, and held it to his mouth to help him drink. How carefully he did it, how gently he was looking at him. It tore Daken apart. He leaned against Quentin and there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be, and he knew it wasn't right. It had never been, but Quentin held him together with utmost care, and his mere presence was solace. Why had he let things go so far? Quentin had seen the worst and still wanted to stay, still held Daken close to his heart.

They were doomed. He was doomed to hurt Quentin, whatever happened.

Quentin tilted the empty glass. “More?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

Quentin levitated glass and bottle and sent them on the nightstand. He knelt there, mere inches for him but careful not to touch Daken accidentally, and Daken had never been looked like that before, never seen such care in one's eyes. It made him tremble, the quiet intensity Quentin's gaze exuded, his firm reassurance. It overwhelmed him, and it made him despair. He couldn't bear to hurt Quentin.

Quentin shuffled backwards. “How do you want to sleep?”

Wordlessly – there was a lump in his throat – Daken slid down and settled on his side once again. The motion made him wince – the fabric dragged against the fresh burns Quentin had inflicted. Quentin noticed, but didn't speak right away, mirroring his movements and settling opposite from him, still too far for comfort. It was done out of concern, to avoid overstepping any boundaries, but Daken wanted him close.

He reached out and hesitantly touched Quentin's shoulder, and pulled him closer, their legs entwined, and sighed when Quentin finally wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Like this?” Quentin's voice was a gentle murmur and Daken nodded, drawing closer still. He rested his palm atop Quentin's chest. Quentin exhaled. “Do the burns hurt?”

“They're fine.” Sheets and the duvet moved to cover them, engulfing them with their warmth.

What would he do to stay like this forever. What would he do to stay in this room forever, in Quentin's arms. To fall asleep like this, to wake like this – Quentin's face a promise in front of him.

“I'm -” Quentin's eyes were so sad. “I'm sorry for earlier. For not noticing.”

“It's not your fault.” And he'd stopped. When Daken had uttered the safeword, he'd _stopped_. “I didn't think it would trigger – I didn't think it would make me think about a... a specific memory.”

Quentin nodded. He wouldn't press, wouldn't ask for details. He'd done it earlier, and it sufficed – he'd told Daken he was there, if Daken wanted to talk about it.

Daken wasn't sure he'd ever be able to. He couldn't ever speak of that stain, that horrible betrayal. He couldn't relive that moment of sheer horror, that madness inflicted upon him just after confessing his – it made him want to retch once again – his _love_ for a creature that only viewed him as disposable. He couldn't bear recalling the helplessness he'd experienced at realizing that help could have come if only Logan had woken up, nor that hate that had only been cemented by the lack of rescue... and Romulus had surely counted on that.

He couldn't think about how he'd opened his legs again just afterwards, and _willingly_ at that, as if nothing had happened... as if his blood hadn't been freezing on his thighs in that exact moment.

How could Quentin look at him like this – with such soft, soft eyes – and not see a monster that inflicted his own trauma upon others, over and over again? How could Quentin see past the blood, the horrors, everything Daken had done, the people he'd hurt – even his own children – and see anything worth his love?

How could Daken be so selfish as to let him do it?

“Hey.” Quentin covered Daken's hand with his. He was clutching at Quentin's shirt; he tried to relax his fingers, but they were rigid, and Quentin's gaze was so _worried_ – “Hey, what is it?”

“I –”

“Yes?”

“I, ah –”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Daken, are you –”

“I'm not a good person.”

“Daken –”

“I'm not. I'm not worthy of you –”

“Daken, stop.”

“You're a good person. Nice. You don't deserve all of this,” Quentin held him tightly and shook his head, but Daken couldn't stop. “You don't deserve what I put you through. You don't deserve someone who hurt so many people and still makes it about himself. You deserve someone normal and caring, Quentin, someone strong, you deserve happiness and I can't give you that. You'd be far better off with Okonkwo, she cares about you –”

“I don't want Idie, Daken. I don't want normal. I don't want –”

“You don't want _happiness_?” Daken's voice cracked. “I can't believe that.”

“I have that with you. I'm happy with you.” Quentin tilted his head to look him in the eyes – Daken saw him through the same damn veil that so often had clouded his sight today.

“I've done nothing but leaning on you,” choked out Daken. “You've been a crutch when you needed one as well, when you needed someone to hold onto just as me, and I couldn't do that for you. I just keep pulling you closer to the edge, try drowning you with me. That's selfish. That's –”

“I choose to, Daken.” Quentin spoke firmly. “I choose to. I choose _you_. And everything that comes with you, Daken. I accept it. You're hurting _now_ , and if you need me to be here, I'll be here. And if I'll need you – I know you'll be there. You have already. You've held me in your arms, just like I'm doing, and made me believe again, Daken, made me believe that everything would be all right. You did that. How can you say you've done nothing?”

“Because it's not enough.” Daken's chest was aching, oh, so much. He'd been selfish, and now he paid the price. “Because I want to be there for you forever, Quentin, I can't bear to see you hurting. I want to be there for you. I... I...”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“I love you,” he choked out, and stopped, unable to continue, unable to breathe, unable to believe he'd just said it.

He was so selfish. So selfish. He'd never felt it, oh, not like this, he hadn't ever felt anything like this, this weight in his chest. This mutual caring, this aching need to make sure of Quentin's well-being, this despair at knowing he couldn't do this, couldn't be there for him for long –

Quentin cupped his face. Daken blinked the tears away and there was the softest look in Quentin's eyes. Quentin's heart was beating loudly, drumming in Daken's ears.

“I love you too,” he murmured, the words ringing like the bells of doom.

It was striking, to hear those words and know them to be true. Not an act, nor a pheromones-induced conviction. It was terrible to know he felt the same. It was painful, for he knew he'd fail Quentin, but it was beautiful.

Still so selfish, oh. Quentin didn't deserve his lies.

“I should have told you so long ago,” Quentin continued, his fingers lightly caressing Daken's cheek. “Can you forgive me?”

“Quentin,” choked out Daken. _Yes, yes, yes, of course I forgive you but how,_ how _can you forgive me?_

“You've been doubting it all along.” Quentin's gaze saddened. “You've been asking yourself _how_ could I stay, and I never told you.”

“It's all right -” He should have told Quentin so long ago, as well. Instead he'd kept wasting time, so selfishly...

“No, not if I could have spared you such worry.” Quentin leaned closer, pressed his forehead to Daken's, spoke so quietly. “I love you. I love you, and that's why I stay, Daken, that's why I want to stand with you. How can you think your love isn't enough? How can you think you aren't doing enough? Just hearing you say it, I -” he blinked some moisture away from his eyes, the most precious smile on his lips.

Daken couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear to leave the truth unsaid, again, like it had been for so long. He couldn't tell Quentin he loved him and leave it at that, as if that wiped away everything, as if everything would be all right. It wouldn't: nothing would be all right.

“Quentin –”

“It's all right, Daken.” Quentin was so warm and close, his heartbeat a calm lull now. He was content. He was happy, because he was, oh, so kind, and they loved each other and that made it all simple in his eyes; it made everything bearable, every obstacle surmountable. “We'll figure it out together, I promise. We have all the time in the world.”

God, it hurt.

“We don't,” choked out Daken, hating himself for disrupting such peace, for waiting so long to say it, for deceiving Quentin so.

Quentin kept gently caressing his cheek. “You want to go to Madripoor. To your children. It's all right, Daken. We can still see each other, we can call each other –”

“No, God, I can't go there. Raze won't want to see me.” Such knowledge burnt him, but more burning still was what would come now. “That's not why we don't have time.” He had to. God, he had to: he'd been too selfish. He owed it to Quentin.

“Then what –”

“I'm going to die soon, Quentin.”

There, he'd said it. He felt as if a terrible weight had been lifted off his chest. The truth out, at last, with all its implications. He'd always known, and he'd involved Quentin in this, just hoping for a little peace, thinking he could get up and leave and spare Quentin the pain; but it hadn't gone has planned. No, it had gone so horribly wrong.

Quentin's fingers stilled as he inhaled sharply; his eyes had gone so wide, his heartbeat wild. “What –” he exhaled, tilting his head back to study Daken's face with an alert gaze. “Are you ill? Does Broo know? Because he can help you, I'm sure he can, we'll tell him tomorrow, first thing in the morning, or we can go right now, do you feel pain?” He propped himself up on an elbow, his hand moving gently from Daken's cheek to the back of his neck; he cradled it with utmost care as he kept looking at him with alarm, as if he could see what was wrong out of sheer resolution.

He couldn't. The only wrong thing here was Daken, who'd thought he could do this without hurting Quentin. How could he have believed that it would have been more bearable for Quentin not to know? How could he have believed that it would have been more bearable to know in advance instead? It was to hurt, regardless. But he didn't want to lie to Quentin anymore. It wasn't right. It had never been right of him to hide it.

“Daken, please, tell me what's wrong. Are you – you said ' _he's a cancer_ ,' did you mean you _have_ cancer?” Quentin's voice cracked. “Broo can fix it, he's a genius, he's working on a cure already, he'll –”

“I don't have cancer.” He felt like there was ash in his mouth. It hurt, to see Quentin like this; to know it was because of him; to know he could have avoided it, if only he hadn't been so damn selfish, if only he hadn't ever confronted Quentin after DC, if only he'd let things as they should have been. “I don't have... any deadly disease.”

“I don't understand.” Quentin was white with worry, his lips were trembling. It was unbearable.

“I don't either.” Daken steeled himself and continued. “I'm not ill, I just... know I will die very soon. It was Ei- Raze who told me. When he came to the past, eighteen years ago.” He saw horrified comprehension dawn in Quentin's eyes. “He told me and Mystique that we were dead.”

Quentin was very still, his breathing accelerated. It must be like reliving an old nightmare, reliving Evan's certainty of his doom and what it had brought to – all those deaths, and a trauma that Quentin still carried upon his shoulders.

He shouldn't worry about any of that. Daken had no intention of trying to change the future.

“I – I don't know...” Daken sat up, and Quentin with him, still so rigid and wide-eyed, the covers pooling around them. “I don't know how it will happen, or when. I only know he came from 2033. And –”

“- we're weeks away from 2032.” Quentin's voice was weak.

“Yes.” Daken averted his gaze. He couldn't face Quentin. “I could die tomorrow. Or next week, next month, next year... but still so soon.”

Quentin didn't answer – he sat still, his heart hammering in Daken's ears.

God, he'd done it. He'd finally ruined it, like he'd known he would. All his lies exposed, his selfishness laid bare for Quentin to see, and Quentin couldn't possibly ever trust him again now. How could he? Daken had lied to him. He'd pretended everything was fine, pretended they could have a chance when they hadn't – when it was just some limited time they had. He'd led Quentin to believe they could have something, when Quentin had needed that to be true. Oh, they'd talked about living one day at a time... about enjoying their time together, and don't worry about the future. But it had become immediately clear that they were both striving for more, and he'd kept lying to Quentin. He'd lied on something he'd soon learnt was a sore subject.

Daken pushed away the covers and moved to stand up.

“What are you doing?” Quentin's voice wavered. Daken sat, his back to Quentin, unable to look at him.

“I'm sorry,” he choked out, “I'm sorry for not telling you. I should have never done this to you. I should've never – this was a mistake.”

But it hadn't been a mistake. It had been the happiest he'd ever felt, lying in Quentin's arms.

But he'd deceived Quentin. He'd hurt him.

“I'll go.” He made as if to stand, but Quentin's hand was suddenly on his arm.

“Why?” he cried out, fingers tight on the fabric of the pajama he'd lent Daken. Why had he lied? Because he was a selfish bastard. Because he hadn't wanted to hurt Quentin, but oh, he'd always known it would hurt, hadn't he? He'd just kept telling himself lies, and lying to Quentin in the process - “Why are you leaving?”

What a question. Daken shut his eyes. “I lied to you, Quentin. I withheld the truth. I've always known and I deceived you. Even when I learnt how you felt about people knowing about their future, even when I saw how much that has hurt you in the past, I still kept silent.” He opened his eyes, that damn veil returned once again. “I'm sorry.”

“That doesn't answer my question,” Quentin said quietly.

“What –” Daken hung his head. “What do you want me to say, Quentin? I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I lied. I've never wanted to hurt you. I thought I could keep it to myself, but I can't lie to you anymore. I love you, and I can't give you anything, and it isn't right –”

“You think I'd leave you.” Quentin let go of his arm, voice so soft and gentle. “You're leaving because you think that this would make me leave you.” He exhaled then, and –

He embraced Daken from behind, arms tight around his chest, cheek pressed against his shoulder. Daken sat, stupefied, unable to comprehend what was happening. He'd told Quentin the truth, he'd told him he'd always lied, he'd told him he was about to die – why would Quentin still want him? Why would he hold him so?

“Quentin –”

“You're an idiot.” Quentin's voice cracked – he was crying. Yet again, Daken had made him cry. “I can't – how can you believe that? How can you believe I'd just leave you –”

“Quentin, I lied. You would have never given us a chance if you'd known –”

“God, shut up!” Quentin held him tighter. “You can't know that. Maybe not, or maybe I'd still have, but it doesn't matter. I love you, Daken. I told you I'd stand with you. We said we'd have this for as long as we could, didn't we? And all along, _all along_ , you knew –”

“Yes. I knew. I knew, and I didn't tell you –”

“You told no one.” Quentin spoke with firm certainty, his voice straining at the edges. “Isn't it? You told _no one_.”

“Yes.”

“You're such a stubborn, infuriating –” Quentin rubbed his face against Daken's back, his arms so tight around Daken's chest, fingers spasmodically rigid. It hurt.

It hurt so much, to hear Quentin cry, to know he'd caused it. It was excruciating, it was terrible. This pain in his chest, this lump in his throat – it hurt like it had mere hours ago, when facing his children.

This was what it felt like, to disappoint someone you loved.

He could only cut his heart out to stop feeling it. That would surely be less painful than this.

Back then, he would have. He _had_ ; back when he was afraid to trust and bare himself. Back when he didn't know what any of this meant. Back when he was a lonely, scared monster. Back when he didn't care.

“You're not alone,” choked out Quentin, “You hear me? You're not. I won't let you leave and wait for it, all alone. You have me.”

He meant it. God help them both, he meant it. It broke him to pieces, his heartbeat wild, his sobs violent, but he meant it. He wouldn't leave Daken. He would stand with him, and wait with him, and it hurt and comforted Daken at the same time.

How could he be so selfish? How could Quentin be so self-sacrificing? It wasn't right; it surely wasn't right.

“I can't let you do that.” Daken dredged the words out of himself. “I can't. I can't hurt you like this.”

“And I can't let you punish yourself like this.” Quentin turned his head and pressed his cheek to Daken's shoulder, his sobs quiet now. “I won't.”

“Quentin.” It was the only thing he could say, the name a prayer. How could this wonderful, caring man be so nurturing towards something like him?

“Yes.” Quentin spoke softly. “It's all right, Daken. I'm here. I'll always be here.” He held him lightly, he would always hold him, and those words shouldn't fill Daken with such relief.

But they did.

God, they did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : _We were thinking about the good of many._ Maiko winced. _We were thinking about doing good things for as many people as we could, and we overlooked one._


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiko attempts to pick up the pieces of their family; Raze is having none of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the last chapter was overwhelming! *-* thank you all so much *-*

26.

“Suddenly I'm overcome,  
Dissolving like the setting sun,  
Like a boat into oblivion...  
Cause you're driving me away.  
Now you have me on the run;  
The damage is already done.  
Come on, is this what you want?  
Cause you're driving me away.”

Florence + the Machine – _Queen of peace_

 

 

Maiko fell to her knees as soon as she found herself in the teleportation room.

She couldn't hold it in anymore; she'd held herself upright as she waited at the school, but now she was alone – now she could let go.

It wasn't possible. What had happened simply wasn't possible – oh, it had all gone so horribly wrong. Her family had fallen apart, and yes, she'd feared it could happen, but she'd thought she would be able to bring the pieces together once more.

But all was amplified now, much more terrible than anticipated. Eike – no, Raze – hated outousan now. And otousan –

Maiko pressed a hand to her mouth. He'd told her not to call him that. He'd _renounced_ her.

He didn't hate her – no, it was far worse. She'd disappointed him. She'd been so focused on herself, on the island, and she'd exacerbated Raze's situation. If she'd taken action sooner, this wouldn't have happened. If she'd contacted otousan immediately after Mystique's death, nothing of this would have happened. But no, she'd let Raze dissuade her – because otousan was right; she'd waited, because the alternative was leaving the island, and that would have meant leaving it to its own devices... and too soon at that. And so she'd thought about the island's well-being first – not about her sibling's.

Otousan was right about her; he was right not to trust her. How could he? She'd hurt his real child. She was nothing but an impostor.

He'd never forgive her. He shouldn't; and yet he'd given her a second chance – a chance to prove she was trustworthy. A chance to prove she loved Raze.

And the price was abandoning the mutants of Madripoor, who needed a safe haven now more than ever.

God, even now she thought about the island first! Maiko punched the floor hard, felt the bones of her hand creak. It was her scarred hand: her reminder that all actions had consequences. The reminder that she couldn't save everyone. A scar she'd worn with pride, that reminded her how much otousan cared for her.

She'd ruined everything. She'd done everything wrong –

The door to the teleportation room opened. “Arakawa.”

Rogue's voice was hard, no trace of mercy in it. Maiko looked up to find herself face to face with the woman standing in the doorway, who'd teleported before her in a blatant show of distrust. Her eyes were hard, too, as she looked down on Maiko.

Maiko pulled herself up. Rogue's accusations of mere weeks ago, in this very building, rang in her ears. She'd accused Maiko and otousan of turning Raze into a figurehead. No doubt, she was thinking she'd been right all along.

Wasn't she? Hadn't Maiko done exactly what she'd been accused of doing? Rogue, Mystique, Blaire and now otousan – they were right. They'd seen what Maiko was too blinded by self-righteousness to see: she was a depraved puppeteer.

Rogue looked her over. She made no comment about Maiko's state of disarray, about the tears streaking down her cheeks. “Where could Raze be?”

“Our –” Maiko's voice faltered, but she steeled herself. “Our quarters, probably. Let me ask my partner –” She moved to leave the room, but Rogue clasped her arm.

“Arakawa.” Something in her voice made Maiko look up; there was some sort of softness in the woman's eyes, maybe, if one looked past her set features. “I do not blame you nor Raze for Mystique's death,” she enunciated, and Maiko nodded stiffly.

She hadn't even thought about the possibility that Rogue could bear a grudge – but she should have; she'd seen how upset Rogue had been at the school, and before that in this very tower, when the possibility of her mother being alive had been taken from her, despite her rage at Mystique's tricks.

Rogue was looking at her intently, her sharp gaze pinning Maiko to the spot. “What I _do_ blame you for... is failing or worse, not _caring_ to realize how it would affect Raze. You've handled this poorly, Arakawa.”

She knew that, dammit! She knew it; she knew her family had gone to pieces because of her! Maiko clenched her jaw and lowered her eyes, which she felt were burning with yet new tears – but Rogue didn't let her escape her gaze, bringing up a gloved hand to tilt Maiko's head up.

“That doesn't mean it cannot be fixed.” Rogue's voice was soft now. “Don't give up so soon. You're an extraordinary young woman, Maiko Arakawa. You can solve the mess you created.”

The words were shocking, especially because they came from the mouth of the first who'd expressed doubts over her, from the mouth of one who should hate her for both Mystique's demise and Raze's current situation. She didn't blame Maiko for Mystique's death because, probably, she knew exactly what her mother was capable of. And the hand that had taken Mystique's life was Raze's, anyway; and she obviously cared about her adoptive sibling, so she wouldn't hate nem for an accident. But saying this to Maiko, now, just after otousan's words that had cut right through Maiko's heart, after her own cold demeanor at the school –

“You trust me?” questioned Maiko, forcing herself to return Rogue's clear gaze. “Why?”

“I don't.” Rogue let go of her chin. “But your father knows you, Arakawa.” There was a pang in Maiko's chest at hearing Rogue call otousan Maiko's _father_ , as if he hadn't just denied she'd ever been his daughter. “If he'd really thought you posed a threat to our sibling, he wouldn't have let you come back here. Of course,” Rogue shrugged, “He doesn't seem very lucid right now. But I trust Laura's judgment. You just made a mistake, Arakawa, with good intentions at heart. I'm here to make sure you fix it. I'm not your enemy, you have my word.”

Overwhelmed – could it truly be so simple? Could it really be that Rogue saw past the pain Maiko had caused? - Maiko could only mutely nod.

“Good.” Rogue stepped back. “Then dry your tears and let's go find Raze.” Rogue's hand on the handle brought Maiko's attention to the blood stain on the door. The floor was covered in some bloody footprints as well – Raze must have left them. Fishing her pockets for a handkerchief, Maiko resolved to have them cleaned up. She would call upon someone to do it immediately.

She pressed the handkerchief to her face as Rogue opened the door again. She wouldn't have to contact anyone: a very alarmed Mashimoto, one of the human agents, stood in the corridor with a mop.

It was then that a thought hit her with force. How hadn't she realized it sooner?

Maiko cleared her throat. “Rogue – close the door a moment, please?” She gave Mashimoto a pleasant smile as blood thumped in her ears.

Mercifully, Rogue did as asked. “Yes?”

God, this would be difficult. “I 'm sorry, truly. I know that's asking a lot of you –”

“What?” Rogue arched an eyebrow.

There was no easy way to say it, so Maiko would be as straightforward as possible. “Only Chie – that's my partner – Jean, and Charles know about what... what happened to Mystique.” Rogue stiffened. “I would beg you not to mention it outside our presence. Please.”

Rogue didn't answer immediately, her jaw clenched, her eyes remote. Saying such a thing now put Maiko at risk of estranging the woman, but she couldn't wait for a better moment. Rogue could ask something to one of the guards, and that would be catastrophic.

“You hid it?” said Rogue eventually, voice clipped, and Maiko nodded.

“Some of the mutants in the tower – they worked for her. We feared repercussions.”

“You said it was an accident.”

“It was.” Maiko prayed Rogue would believe her. “But we didn't know how it would be received –”

“Tell me what happened.” It wasn't a request; Rogue's voice was imposing. “You didn't say, earlier.”

“I didn't.” Maiko steeled herself. How could she recount Mystique's last moments to her daughter without indulging in how hell-bent Mystique had been? If Raze hadn't showed up at the right moment, Maiko would have died. “She infiltrated the building, pretending to be Raze. She committed a mistake – I realized it was an impostor. We fought, she got the upper hand – she shot me, once, and was about to kill me when Raze came back. The building was in lockdown by then – they talked, Raze and Mystique, and – ne was very upset. It happened the night of that clone's attack on otousan, Raze had just come back.” She saw sad comprehension dawn in Rogue's eyes. Maybe, had Mystique shown up any other day, Raze would have been able to reason with her... maybe ne could have managed to stop her from killing Maiko without killing her in turn. “Ne questioned Mystique about nir parentage – and Mystique had always known. As she'd always known – about the rest. She didn't... she didn't say that outright, but she did say she'd left to try and change the future.” Rogue shut her eyes, a grimace on her face. Maiko spoke quietly. “Raze was keeping her pinned – and the claws came out. It was an accident, I swear. The stress was unbearable. The claws just come out sometimes, they cannot be controlled –”

“Arakawa.” Rogue interrupted her, eyes still closed. “I'm aware of that. Logan was my friend.”

“Yes.” Maiko studied her pale face. How could she be so calm? How could she stand still, and not howl in pain – or fall to her knees and cry?

“Mom,” muttered Rogue, a world of reproach and love and resignation in her voice, and then she opened her eyes again. “You said the building was in lockdown? Your people know there was an intruder?” she asked casually, returning to the old topic.

“Yes. They think – they think it was one of Raze's clones.”

“I understand.” Rogue nodded. “I won't say anything, Arakawa. But tell me – tell me you gave her a good resting place.”

Hair rose on the back of Maiko's neck. _We'll burn her body_ , Raze had proposed, and God, they'd done exactly that. And she couldn't keep it from Rogue. Rogue could ask to see any imaginary resting place whose existence Maiko reassured her of.

“We – no.” Maiko stood straighter, hoping such news wouldn't be the thing to finally break Rogue and make her hate them. “We couldn't. We had to make her disappear quickly. I'm sorry,” she added, because Rogue was just staring at her, face ashen, “We couldn't have done it any other way –”

“Disappear _how_?” There was sharpness in Rogue's voice once again. She leaned on the door – but she was bracing herself against it as well, against these horrors Maiko kept spewing at her.

“We – we burned her body,” Maiko confessed, voice little.

Without a word, Rogue turned to the door and opened it with force; then she strode into the corridor. Maiko went after her, praying she'd done the right thing.

Rogue didn't wait for her, but kept striding down the corridors, following Raze's bloody footsteps, ignoring the men and women intent on cleaning them and the occasional sharp questioning. Maiko stopped to reassure her people and in doing so got the tale of the half-siblings' return: Raze, covered in blood, stalking the building with a haunted gaze, and Charles steering nir path till they'd met with Chie, who'd put some men to clean the corridors, sent all the others back to work, and accompanied Raze and Charles to their quarters.

Thank God for Chie, Maiko sighed as she reached Rogue. And thank God that at least Charles had known what to do, taking care of his sibling as Maiko stayed at the school. The boy had behaved admirably, all things considered: he'd immediately warned Maiko of what had happened, and his first thought had been Raze's well-being. Maiko now regretted her assessment of him. He was a good kid; he'd taken the reins while Maiko was focused on otousan. Maybe she should've done that, instead of staying at the school – she should have gone after Raze.

She'd ached to comfort otousan, but maybe he'd resented her for that as well: just another confirmation that she didn't think about Raze first.

They reached the apartment. Dreading what she could find – hoping Rogue wouldn't do anything – Maiko opened the door.

Chie was walking restlessly between the two couches, and let out a gasp of alarm at seeing her. Her eyes briefly flickered to Rogue, but the older woman could just as well not exist; Chie reached Maiko in a few steps, and wrapped her arms around her.

Maiko hadn't realized how rigidly she'd held herself until that last moment, until she felt the comfort and warmth of Chie's embrace. She melted into her touch, some of the tension disappearing from her just at the contact... at knowing that she was home, Chie was here, and they could solve everything together.

Rogue cleared her throat.

Chie moved back hesitantly, her hands resting lightly on Maiko's shoulderblades. “Raze's taking a shower.”

“Okay.” Maiko took a shaky breath. So ne'd already said ne'd changed nir name – or maybe Charles had. “Did ne say anything?”

“Ne didn't need to.” Slowly walking backwards, Chie grimaced – she'd probably been in nir mind; she probably still was.

“How is ne? Should I go see the situation?”

“There's... Charles with nem.”

Charles? Ne'd let Charles _into_ the bathroom? The bathroom was off-limits. The bathroom couldn't be accessed when Raze was inside. Ne hated to be seen, and that was when ne wore one of nir preferred aspects – but now? Now ne wasn't shapeshifted in any way, now ne was in nir skin for the first time in years, and... ne let Charles see nem?

She didn't know if such a thing alarmed her or filled her with relief. Ne'd hid nemself for so long, hating that body which had been violated, and now – with killing nir abuser for the second time, ne felt comfortable enough in nir own skin to show it to others?

After all, ne'd seemed unconcerned enough at the school; standing there naked, dripping blood, Creed's corpse at nir feet –

Maiko wouldn't forget the sight of Raze covered in blood for as long as she lived. She would never forget nir vacant eyes, nir rage afterwards. How hadn't she seen the damage? Why had she allowed herself not to?

Chie led her to the couch, made her sit; she motioned to Rogue to do the same, but the woman stood still, eyes studying the room. Maybe she was wondering if Mystique had died here – and in truth, she stood a few steps away from the spot her mother's body had lain in.

Chie sat beside her. “What happened?” At Maiko's grimace, she added: “I know what happened to Raze, love. What happened to you?” She cupped Maiko's face; she threw a glance at Rogue, but then her soft gaze focused on Maiko once again. “You're upset.”

“It's nothing,” Maiko said. It didn't matter what she felt, not in the wake of what else had happened. She knew what she had to do – and she had to do it as soon as she could.

Chie's eyes shone with worry. “Maiko.”

“It's nothing, love.” Maiko covered Chie's hand with her own. “I just realized how poorly I handled the situation.”

“You didn't –” Chie's protest was interrupted by Rogue's discreet cough. Maiko shook her head.

“No, Chie. I did. I didn't see it – how couldn't I see it? How couldn't I see how furiously Raze was hurting? How could I just think about this island, while my sibling fell apart?” She spoke in a hushed whisper. She couldn't look at Rogue – this tasted like self-absorbed blabbering to her own mouth. She couldn't look at the woman and see the contempt that surely was in her gaze.

“Love.” Chie spoke equally quietly. “If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. And Jean's. We had direct access to nir mind. And we didn't see.”

“How could you not?” questioned Rogue from her corner, her voice sharp. “It's transparent by looking at nem. And even if it weren't, it's obvious that killing your own mother...” her voice cracked, “... can't do wonders for your psyche. What the hell were you all thinking?”

 _We were thinking about the good of many_. Maiko winced. _We were thinking about doing good things for as many people as we could, and we overlooked one._

_And I'll never forgive myself for this._

“You're right.” Chie looked at the woman. “It's on me. Not on you, love,” she returned her gaze to Maiko. “On _me_. I should have looked deeper. I stayed on the surface – out of respect. And on the surface, ne seemed fine. Strong-willed, hell-bent on not letting it affect nem. Focused on Madripoor... ne wanted – ne wants to prove Mystique wrong, even now. And I should have seen how it was eating at nem. I should have seen how nir thoughts festered. I should have seen –”

“Damn well you should have.” Rogue finally sat on the opposite couch, mere inches from her mother's dying spot. Maiko winced. “But this is all pointless now. Start thinking about how to fix it.”

Chie averted her gaze, wincing herself. The motion made Maiko's heart skip a beat.

“Love?”

“I don't know if we can, Maiko. I don't know if we can do anything.” Chie's voice wavered, her eyes fixed to the floor.

“What are you talking about?” she and Rogue asked at the same time, alarm ringing clear in their voices.

Chie grimaced. “Ne _snapped_ , Maiko. Nir mind – it's changed. It's a maelstrom in there, everything's pierced, and when you follow a thread – when you force your way past the thorns and the currents –” her voice died out.

“What?” urged Maiko, heart beating loudly. Chie's face was ashen.

“Creed wasn't a threat,” she said, her voice shaking. “I saw everything, I can see it even now. Ne'd restrained him. Ne had him _down_ , he couldn't possibly harm nem –”

“That monster raped nem,” protested Maiko despite the dread filling her veins. She recalled the bloody pulp at Raze's feet. She knew Creed wasn't a threat anymore when Raze had killed him – Charles had told her as much. She _knew_ it hadn't been a clean death. But Chie's horror seemed to imply something far worse. Raze's actions _had_ to have been a visceral reaction, born from fear... “You can't expect Raze to think clearly, you've seen nir nightmares –”

“Yes. I would've expected panic, self-defense. Not what I've seen. I've never seen anything like that, Maiko.” Chie took a breath. “I saw many assassinations in my life, but they pale in comparison. How can I say – I wasn't there when your father tortured Williams, but I've seen him afterwards. He hadn't _enjoyed_ it. It was simply what needed to be done. What Williams _deserved_. But Creed –”

“He deserved to die.” Maiko spoke firmly. “I would have killed him myself, had I had the chance.”

“I'm telling you, not like this.” And the strain in her voice, the way she'd paled – it was obvious she was shocked. “You'd have gone straight for the killing blow. Your father... yes, he probably would have tortured him before. But Raze... _reveled_ in what ne was doing. Ne – the sounds ne made! The _things_ ne –” Chie covered her face with her hands. She seemed about to feel ill.

Maiko felt ill herself. It was incongruous, it clashed with nir little sibling... she understood the need to make Creed pay, but what Chie was describing was different. This _wasn't_ Eike...

Exactly. This was Raze. And Raze... Raze _enjoyed_ torturing people.

But Creed hadn't been some innocent bystander. Surely, Raze wouldn't start going around and torturing whoever ne found. This was just a one-time thing – wasn't it?

God, she hoped so. She couldn't believe her little sibling had changed so thoroughly; what happened had been brought about by the terrible stress ne'd been experiencing, by finding nemself face to face with the monster that had ruined nir life.

Ne needed peace and quiet. Ne needed – God, ne needed help. The sooner they left Madripoor, the better would be for nem.

Oh, but they'd accomplished nothing for the island! How could she leave it to its own devices, unchanged, defenseless, with Edmondson on the warpath?

How could she think about the island first, even now?

But... even otousan had said it – he'd given her leeway. Not for her nor for the good of Madripoor, oh, he didn't _care_ about the island; he never had. But he'd seen that she was truthful when she said that Raze needed to do something...

Oh, look at that. How _quickly_ she found reasons to keep being selfish. She was good at this, wasn't she? The best there was. Her stomach churned.

“Arakawa.” Rogue was looking intently at her; there was no judgment on her features, no nausea at what Chie had recounted. How could she control herself so well? “What are you going to do?”

“We need –” Maiko bit her lower lip. Think, she had to think. ' _Stick to your brilliant plan_ ,' otousan had said, with that horribly scathing tone that he'd never before used with her. ' _Leave the island as soon as it comes to fruition, and maybe I'll believe you ever cared about Raze._ '

She knew what they needed to do. They needed to accomplish that which had been highest in their priority ever since the beginning; only _then_ would Raze be convinced to leave the island.

They needed to win Madripoor a UN seat.

And that wouldn't happen for as long as they gave sanctuary to Jean Grey.

It was astonishing, how the pieces came together; how fortunate, that Jean would prove herself for the unstable menace she was. Before today, Maiko wouldn't have ever considered betraying her to the US, despite how desperately they needed to lay low. But Jean had brought Raze to Alaska, had left Laura's corpse on the ground; and Maiko didn't trust the woman to ever come near Raze again.

And with how self-sacrificing the woman was – with how she kept saying she needed to pay for killing those humans in D.C. – it shouldn't be difficult to convince her to turn herself over to the US.

That would be a show of good faith on Madripoor's part; it wouldn't automatically win them a seat, but it would make world leaders see that they were willing to compromise – the mere thought sent bile rushing up her throat, but Maiko bit it down; and with some well-thought-out publicity stunts, they would finally take that damn seat.

It needed careful deliberation – she needed to devise a strategy. But the first step was clear: wait for Jean to come back from the school, convince her to sacrifice herself for the good of Madripoor – for the good of Raze. In memory of Alison Blaire, who'd _seen_ the good of Madripoor.

And if she didn't manage to persuade Jean – well. Maiko grimaced.

She'd have to throw Jean to the wolves regardless.

“Arakawa?” Rogue was still waiting for an answer. Chie had taken Maiko's hand between hers.

“Yes.” Maiko took a deep breath. Rogue was Jean's friend, wasn't she? How would she take this? “I think I know what I can do to speed the process – we'll need Jean's cooperation.”

“For what?” Rogue cocked her head to the side.

“We need to give the world a sign that we're trustworthy,” Maiko said hesitantly, “And we're still harboring a murderer –”

Rogue didn't let her continue. “Using others to clean your mess, Arakawa?”

“It's her mess.” Maiko sat up straighter, but couldn't meet Rogue's gaze. She looked out of the windows. “She told me she'd have to pay for what she did, and now it's time. If she stays here, we'll never get any kind of accord with any country, nevermind the UN seat. She needs to be gone for this island to reach its potential, for us to hold elections, for Raze to retire –”

“Why would I retire?”

The voice made her jump. She jerked her head and there Raze was, leaning on the doorway to nir quarters. How long had ne been standing there?

If she'd known ne could hear her, she'd have watched her words. She'd relied on Chie warning her, but Chie didn't know what had transpired; she still didn't know that Rogue was here to _keep an eye_ on Maiko.

“And why,” Raze continued, entering the room, Charles behind nem, “do you want to sell Jean for it?”

 

* * *

 

Raze.

 _Raze_. Ne rolled it on nir tongue, tried it out as ne watched the blood swirl down the drain.

Raze was a good name. Chosen by nem, not flung upon nem by someone who'd only wanted to use nem. _A sharp blade to do great things_ , indeed. Oh, ne would do great things all right, but ne wouldn't be subtle as that name implied.

No; ne'd chosen to be loud. To leave a mark. To destroy.

As ne'd destroyed the animal. Shivers of pleasure rippled through nir body as ne recalled the delicious screams it had emitted, the taste of its blood. Ne licked the roof of nir mouth as ne scrubbed the blood away from the interstices ne could reach – when ne'd remade nemself, when ne'd reknit nemself together, some of the blood of the animal had blended with nir tissues. Now it was inside nem, but it wasn't the old violation – it was there because _ne_ had made it so. And the animal was gone.

Oh, how it had _screamed_. How shrill, how delightfully _pointless_ had those sounds been. No one had come to its aid, just as no one had come to nir aid, years ago.

No, it had been too late for the animal when the door had opened to reveal –

Nir lips curled over nir teeth as ne turned the water off with force.

 _Everything all right?_ Charlie's mind gently brushed nir own.

 _Yes_. Ne stepped out of the shower; Charlie leant against the sink wearing one of nir shirts and pants too short for him, and hastily turned his head to the side when he saw nem.

Exhilarating. It was so exhilarating to be so exposed, to show nir freed body. Ne ached to dance naked all around the tower, to make them all see ne was nemself now –

But some guards had already seen nem. Ne didn't know if it was nir nudity or the blood that had upset them so, but maybe ne should act more composed now.

 _You should, yes,_ said Charlie. He was still determinedly staring elsewhere, but what good did it do, when he was inside nir very mind? He knew nir shape, he'd seen it. He'd seen it with his eyes, too, up until that very moment. Why the sudden shyness?

He hadn't shied away from anything yet. He'd held nem, and had gotten the animal's blood all over his clothes, which now lay in a disarrayed bundle at his feet. He'd helped nem into the shower. His presence was a soft cocoon around nir mind. He'd immersed himself in it, and he hadn't recoiled like Chie, who'd blanched at seeing what ne'd done, and had shut herself out of nir mind.

Charlie was there, with nem, whereas Maiko had stayed behind, to deal with –

Ne balled nir fists, claws itching to come out.

 _Easy_ , murmured Charlie, a low buzz, _Easy_. Then, aloud: “Maiko's back. You really should dress.”

Oh, now she deigned to come back. Ne relaxed nir hands and grew a tail to catch the hairdryer. “I don't want to see her,” ne muttered.

Charlie tapped on the tile. “She was very worried.”

“Yes? Not enough. Evidently.” She'd been more worried about – ne clenched nir teeth.

To distract nemself, ne began blow-drying nir hair.

Charlie sighed. “She's here now, and I get why you're angry, but is it really worth it shutting her out?”

No, ne didn't want to shut her out – not really. But she'd left nem, and she'd stayed behind, when she should have come after nem, should have worried about _nem_ ... not about that thrice-be-damned liar, exhibitionist, _rapist_ –

 _Easy. Easy,_ said Charlie, but he couldn't calm nem. Ne couldn't believe it – ne couldn't believe it! Nir teeth were clenched so hard it hurt.

_I'm calm._

_Yeah, tell that to someone else._ Charlie cocked an eyebrow. _I'm_ inside _your mind._

 _True, that._ Ne snorted. Charlie sighed yet again.

_Do you want to talk about your –_

“Let's go see Maiko,” ne interrupted his thought, and ne laid the hairdryer on the counter. Ne went into nir room to retrieve some clothes.

Charlie followed nem. Y _ou're angry with him._

_Shut up, Charlie._

_I can't. I see it all, I_ feel _it all, your pain and your love and –_

“I don't love him anymore,” ne said.

It was true. It was _true_ , dammit.

Mercifully, Charlie didn't answer.

Ne wouldn't have paid attention to his words anyway, because ne was listening to the voices coming from the living room – one of them was aunt Rogue's.

 _Yeah, I was about to tell you_ , said Charles as ne dressed quickly. _She came with Maiko_.

Why?

Maybe she wanted to talk about Raven? She wanted to hear nem apologize?

Ne would never apologize. Oh, not in a million years. Ne'd apologized for hiding it – yes; that hadn't been right. But ne would never, never apologize for killing her.

Ne approached the door, listening intently to the conversation being carried in the other room.

Ne couldn't believe what ne was hearing. Why was Maiko talking about Jean “paying for what she did”? Why was she evoking nir retirement so soon, why was she disclosing their plans to aunt Rogue?

Ne opened the door and stepped into the living room, startling the three women.

Maiko watched nem as if ne were a wild animal, a dangerous thing. Oh, she kept very composed – she knew how to do that. But her heart was beating wildly. Her eyes studied nem closely.

Was Maiko afraid of nem? Had the shock melted away, and now fear had taken its place?

Was nir sister afraid of nem?

Charlie wasn't.

“Raze,” she said softly, “How do you feel?”

“I feel fantastic, thank you.” Ne reached the couch aunt Rogue sat in and dropped unceremoniously onto it, stretching nir legs till nir naked feet brushed against _the_ spot. It felt good.

Maiko inhaled sharply.

But she didn't say anything, so she hadn't told aunt Rogue that she was sitting very close to where Raven had met her just end. Ne didn't have to worry about offending aunt Rogue, for now.

Ne looked at the older woman. What was she doing there? “Hi, aunt.”

“Raze.” Aunt Rogue looked at him the same as everybody else – like ne was about to explode. “How do you –”

“I've already answered that,” ne spat, irritated. Charlie came to stand beside nem; aunt Rogue's eyes flickered to him before returning to nem. “The only thing that'd make me feel even better is knowing the animal has been burned down.” Aunt Rogue winced slightly and a suspect formed in nir mind. “ _Has_ the animal being taken care of, aunt?” ne questioned, ready to go the school and do it nemself. What was the problem? It wasn't so difficult to set fire to a body, ne should _know_.

“Not yet –”

“Why?” ne snapped. “Must I do it myself? I'll –”

“Billy will take care of it.” Aunt Rogue tried to take nir hand, as if she could. Ne pulled it out of her reach. Aunt Rogue looked stunned for a moment, but she didn't let that stop her. “You can trust him. He'll do a spell –”

“You were supposed to take care of it!” Ne was about to storm out, get back to the school, set fire to that bloody thing nemself. Ne'd have to face _him_ again, but ne'd swallow it down and –

 _Raze_ . Charlie's voice echoed in nir mind. _If you act unhinged, they'll treat you as such._ Ne bit nir lower lip. _Look at them. Look at how they're looking at you_. Aunt Rogue was studying nem intently. Maiko was wide-eyed, pale with worry. Chie wouldn't even look at nem directly. _They think you need to be restrained. Prove them wrong or they will._

 _Maiko wouldn't_ restrain _me_ , ne protested.

_You heard her. She wants to make you retire._

Ne took a breath and returned nir gaze to aunt Rogue. “Okay. But I want to know the minute he does it.”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded. “He'll tell me. I'll tell you immediately.”

“Okay.” Ne crossed nir arms. “Obviously you didn't come here just to tell me that.”

“Yes, I –” Aunt Rogue threw a glance in Maiko's direction. “I'm going to stay here for a while, if that's all right with you, Raze.”

Maiko was biting the inside of her cheek. She wasn't that all right with it.

Ne tried to speak calmly. “Why?”

Aunt Rogue smiled in an unpleasantly fake way. “Just to make sure you're fine.”

“I _am_.”

“Yes, of course,” aunt Rogue agreed amiably, and anyone would know she didn't believe what she said.

“Then you don't need to stay.”

 _Careful_ , said Charlie.

 _Yes, yes._ Ne looked at Maiko again – she looked resigned. _Ah_! Triumph shot in nir veins. So she didn't agree with the others! She wouldn't restrain nem. It was all on aunt Rogue and Chie.

_It's possible, yes. But you still need to be careful._

“Why don't you tell us what you're telling Raze, Charles?” aunt Rogue said calmly.

 _Shit_. She was good. Maiko hadn't even noticed they were communicating: she blinked in surprise at aunt Rogue's words. And Chie had just about jumped in her spot, oblivious to what was happening in nir mind since she'd shut herself out in plain horror.

 _I've got this,_ said Charlie as he shifted on his feet. “I'm just telling nem that maybe ne should listen to what you have to say.”

“Thank you.” Aunt Rogue smiled at him. Did she really believe that? She wasn't that good, evidently.

“Yes, okay,” ne sprawled on the couch. “I'm all ears, aunt.”

Aunt Rogue clasped her hands on her lap. “I... I know you feel fine now, Raze. But – please, let me finish –” she added, because ne'd gritted nir teeth. “I want to be here for you. Just in case you need me – I know there's Maiko, and Chie, and Charles...”

“And Jean,” ne added.

“And Jean –”

“Okay, aunt, I get it. You're very worried. I guess you can stay,” ne said offhandedly. It irritated nem, and it apparently didn't sit well with Maiko as well, but ne had most important things to worry about. Ne turned to nir sister. “How's Jean?”

“Fine.” Maiko spoke in a very reassuring voice... too much reassuring, so that it got the opposite effect on nem, because ne knew that voice. Charlie, too, smelt agitated, and he made some motion which ne couldn't see, since he was behind nem. Maiko looked up at him, then back at nem. “I swear. She's fine, they're treating her. Lee will contact us as soon as she wakes up.”

“And then we'll send her away?” Ne crossed nir arms. “Why do you want to?”

Maiko sighed. “I don't _want_ to send her away.” Well, her heartbeat said otherwise. Was she _lying_ to nem?

“Bullshit.” She'd never lied to nem and ne wouldn't let her do it now. Ne was seething. How could she?

Maiko sighed. “Well, okay, then. I don't really trust her, and I'd love to send her away.” She sat rigidly, avoiding aunt Rogue's gaze. She was talking to nem only – an apology clear in her voice. “But that doesn't mean that I'd do it without a good reason. You know that, right?”

Ne tilted nir head. Yes, of course ne knew that. Maiko didn't let emotions cloud her judgment. She was always very precise.

 _Are you going to just let it slide?_ Charlie's voice echoed in nir head. _Jean's on our side, she helped you –_

 _I know_. Ne sighed. _Let me handle this, okay? I love Jean too_. Ne tuned nir attention back to nir sister. “Yes. I know that. So I ask you again, why do you want to send her away?”

“We need her to.” Maiko spread her arms, palms up, eyes almost pleading. “Listen. She's always known this would happen. Dammit, she told me from the start. She knew we'd have to let her go eventually. She knew she had to pay for what she did to those humans.”

“They'll hurt her, Maiko.” Ne sat up. “We can't let that happen.”

“We won't.” Maiko tilted her head, a reassurance in her clenched jaw. “We won't abandon her, we just need her out of this island.”

“Why?” Charlie stepped up, eyeing both nem and Maiko. “Really, why? Are you listening to yourselves? You're talking about abandoning her –”

_Charlie, I told you to let me handle it._

_You two are lost in your little conspiracy. I know why she wants to abandon Jean, and_ you _know, and you're letting her talk you through it_ –

 _I don't want Jean to come to any harm! Fuck, you're in my mind, you_ know _it!_

Charlie just grimaced. No one in the room could have mistaken the prolonged silence for anything else than what it was, especially given they'd turned to look at each other – the two of them, talking telepathically, shutting the others out.

Maiko recovered first. “We won't abandon her, Charles. I swear. And we aren't doing it right now, anyway. I'll discuss it _with_ her, we'll elaborate a strategy, we'll give her a safety net –”

“Because you need her _out_ ,” spat Charlie. Ne reached up and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Some of his rage was coming at nem in waves – but of course, he cared deeply about Jean. She'd taught him how to use his powers. She'd taken him under her wing.

“Yes, Charles.” Maiko looked up at him, but she was speaking to the both of them – she glanced at aunt Rogue, too. “You know what we're trying to do here. And we can't realistically expect to gain any of that if we keep giving sanctuary to her.”

“Okay, I see that. I _know_ that.” Ne spoke before Charlie could say anything. “But if we focus, I'm sure we can find another way. We can find some other way to create solid foundations for this island.”

“Not for _years_ , Raze. They won't _let_ us, not with Jean here...”

“Okay! Let's wait, then. Who's in a hurry?”

She grimaced, shook her head.

Her. _She_ was in a hurry.

“What's the hurry?” ne repeated, dumbfounded. What was happening?

 _You know what's happening_ , said Charlie.

“Raze,” she said softly, as if talking to an invalid. “It's always been our plan to leave –”

“Yes.” Ne shook nir head, desperately trying to shake away a slow creeping feeling. “True. But there never was an expiration date –”

“There should have been,” said aunt Rogue, equally softly. Was this an intervention?

“Raze.” Ne whipped nir head to look at Maiko. Those soft, soft eyes. She loved nem. She was doing this for nem.

She loved nem too much. Ne'd never asked for this, ne didn't want to be coddled. Ne was fine.

“I'm fine,” ne said stupidly. Ne was. Ne was.

“I'm worried about you,” she said, softly, softly.

“You don't need to be. I'm fine.”

 _Repeating it like a broken record is a foolproof way to led them to believe you're_ not.

 _But you agree with them._ Ne recalled Charlie's soft voice attempting to calm nem down. _At least a bit._

Charlie squeezed nir hand. _But I'm here. If we're all here, you'll be fine_.

“Raze...” Maiko stood up. “I know you feel you're fine. But it won't last forever. And we need to plan accordingly, okay? Do you understand that? Can you understand my reasoning?”

“Uh-huh.” She wanted to restrain nem. No – she didn't _want_ to. She smelt so sad, so guilty. But she wanted to protect nem from what ne was – from what ne'd become, from what ne'd never change from. This was what ne was now. This was nem, and ne was fine. Ne felt better than ne'd had in eight years.

“So you see that I'm right? Do you agree with me, Raze? We need to think about you. We haven't, up until this moment, and you were suffering –” Her eyes were filling with tears. That panicked nem.

“You _did_ think about me! You've always been here, with me. You took care of me, Maiko.”

“Not enough.” She shook her head. “Not nearly enough. Had I, we'd have left, I'd have told otousan, I –”

 _Oh my God._ Ne stared at her. “He put you up to this!” Ne knew the truth in those words as soon as ne said them; she started, and worried her lower lip. “And you're _letting_ him? You let him assuage his guilt by putting me away?”

“He's worried, kid,” said aunt Rogue. “As I am. As is your sister. We're worried about you. We don't want to ' _put you away_ ', we want to protect you –”

“That's such bullshit.” Ne shook with rage. “That's such _bullshit_. Maybe you are, but he isn't _worried_. He's trying to deflect your attention. Focus on me and you won't see what a monster he is, what he's capable of – _he could have saved me_ ,” ne growled. Charlie squeezed nir hand, but it didn't calm nem. “He could have saved me, and Raven too, they both _knew_ and they did _nothing_!”

“It doesn't work like that.” Aunt Rogue spoke softly. “Changing the future is never that simple. Even if – even when you have reliable information, you can't just –”

“Oh, she said she did, countless times,” ne spat. “But she couldn't, not for me, no? And he. Did. Nothing!”

He'd done nothing, _nothing_ to protect nem. He was a liar, he'd promised nem he would never let anything happen to nem, but he'd always known and he'd done nothing. _Nothing._

“Hate me too, then,” said Maiko, her voice surprisingly clear despite her unshed tears. “I was there. I was there when you came to the past, when you refused to talk about Creed. I should have understood, I could have –”

Ah, ne wasn't going to let her take the blame for _him_. “No, no, shut up. You were what –” Ne did some quick math, “Twelve? Thirteen? You were _twenty-three_ when I was kidnapped! You couldn't have done anything. This is on him, all on him, and he _dares_ make you feel guilty?” She winced. “What did he tell you? _Why_ are you defending him?”

“I'm not –”

“Was it a good _show_?” ne exploded, rage rushing through nir veins. “It must have been, for you to – to _submit_ to this –” Or had he controlled Maiko? With the pheromones?

“A show...?” She looked at nem, uncomprehending, soft, worried. Was she so easily influenced, then? Had he influenced her decisions? Had he _always_?

“A show, Maiko!” Ne stood up. _Raze_ , began Charles, but ne spoke over him. “Did he bawl his eyes out? Oh, he loves that, he _craves_ the attention, he likes to make it all about himself. And you fell for it. But it's fine, he probably used his pheromones, it's not your fault,” ne reassured her, and she was so pale, head shaking ever so slightly, “It's okay, Maiko. He's just using you to assuage his guilt, I get that –”

“Raze, no. _No_. He's _worried_ –”

“It's the pheromones. They make you say that.” Ne nodded, and Maiko kept shaking her head, a few tears streaking her cheeks. It must be hard to see the truth. Ne turned towards aunt Rogue. “You all fell for it. He's controlling you, aunt –” She looked at nem in worry, as pale as Maiko, her wrinkles stark lines on her face, her hair streaked white, but still a beautiful woman, and ne feared for her. “Be careful around him, aunt, I... I don't want him to... to r-r-rape you...”

Aunt Rogue widened her eyes, and Maiko cried out – such a horrible, pained sound.

Ne turned to look at nir sister; she was shaking her head. “Stop,” she begged. “Raze, _stop_.”

She had to _see._ “He's a _rapist_ , Maiko.”

“Don't –”

“Don't what? Don't _what_?” ne shouted. “You wanted me talk about how I felt? I want to talk about this. He's a rapist, and he's using you, and you don't see it! He's got you wrapped around his little finger, he's a demon, a monster –” ne laughed, a horrifying sound ne'd never felt come out of nir mouth – dark, hard. There was no joy in it, just pain. “And I didn't believe it! The animal said it and I didn't believe it, but it takes one to know one, right? My fathers are both _rapists_!” ne shrieked, and Maiko just kept shaking her head, and ne wanted, oh, ne wanted to make her see, how couldn't she _see_? “It's a damn fucking miracle he never touched me,” ne tried to drill the point home, and...

God, ne regretted the words as soon as they left nir mouth. They were horrible. No, no, ne hadn't meant that, how could ne say such a thing? He was a monster, yes, but he'd never – he'd never even looked at nem that way. There had been only love in his eyes, so much love, always...

And all that love had meant nothing. He hadn't protected nem –

Ne felt suddenly tired, so tired. Maiko was staring at nem, her hands pressed to her mouth, such horror on her face; she almost couldn't breathe.

 _Raze_. Charlie spoke softly. _You don't really think that._

No. No, ne didn't; but ne couldn't unsay those horrible words now, could ne?

Ne fell back onto the couch.

_And he wasn't using his pheromones on the X-Men. They know about his powers, so they must have a way to make sure he's not using them._

_Shut up, Charlie. Please._

_And you don't really believe he's using them on Maiko_ , continued Charles, relentless. _You'd have noticed far sooner, had it been the case –_

 _I_ know _that! Why are you doing this?_

 _Because the alternative is worse_ , said Charles. _Because if he's not manipulating her, it means she sees him, she_ knows _what he is, and she forgives him,_ continued Charles, unmerciful _. That's why you're doing this, why you're saying these things. You can't accept that she forgives him._

“Raze.” Maiko knelt on the floor in front of nem. “Raze, he would never –”

“I know,” ne choked out. “I didn't – didn't mean –”

How could she forgive him for those things? How could she forgive him for being a rapist? For not protecting nem?

“But I can't... he...”

“It's normal, Raze. It's normal that you feel pain.” She caught nir hands and ne let her.

She still loved him. God, _she still loved him._

“How could he?” ne cried out. “How, how _could_ he –” _How can he be an animal?_

_Why don't you see it? Why do you still love him?_

Maiko inhaled as if to speak, her heartbeat wild; she closed her mouth, and opened it again, and closed it, and then spoke... with a low, hesitant voice. “There are – there are things you don't know, Raze.”

“Things I don't know?” Ne shook nir head. Oh, he got that. She knew something about his past; apparently everybody fucking knew something but _nem –_ but that didn't matter. Nothing – no sob story – could possibly excuse being a _rapist._ How could Maiko say that to nir face?

“Things – things you don't know about his powers, and how he g-grew up.” She was pale, her breath catching in her throat; she was wondering if she should even talk about this. Worrying about betraying his _trust_ or some shit.

“I don't want to hear whatever bullshit he pulled out to excuse what he does. He's a _rapist_ , Maiko. Nothing excuses that.”

“He wasn't excusing himself.” Maiko closed her eyes. “He didn't even try, Raze. Nothing excuses that, and he _knows_ that, and I know that. I _know_ – at least in part – how you feel right now. He hurt others as you were hurt, and it tears at you.” Ne opened nir mouth – to tell her she couldn't possibly know, what was this shit now? - but she squeezed nir hands, tears streaming down her cheeks.

And ne suddenly knew. Ne _knew_.

“No. Oh, no, Maiko. No. _No_.” Nir chest ached so much. Ne clutched at her hands, too shocked to say anything else. Ne didn't want to believe it, it hurt even to think it. But she'd never spoken about her life before meeting father. And at the school, she'd said she didn't like to think about that part of her life –

Ne felt aunt Rogue stand up and move away from them, going in the direction of the windows. Chie joined her.

The two women were giving them _privacy_.

 _You want me to leave?_ asked Charles, but he knew the answer already. He retreated from nir mind, kept at the edges; and he moved away as well. In the heavy silence that followed, there were rustling sounds – Charlie was browsing the library.

“Why –” Nir voice died out. “Who –” ne tried again, such fury in nem, such hate, oh ne wanted to _kill_ them, ne wanted to torture whoever had dared hurt nir sister like that.

“It doesn't matter, Raze. It's long past. It's... healed.” Maiko opened her eyes and smiled, a soft pained smile. “But I understand you. You're not alone. I understand how you feel.”

She'd been broken, just as nem.

But she still found in her heart to forgive father for the same crime that had been forced upon her.

How could she?

“Does he... does he know?”

She squeezed nir hands. “Yes, Raze.”

“How can you stand it? How can you stand his presence? How long have you known that he... that he –” _Help me understand_ , ne thought. _Help me find a way, oh, I can't stand it_.

Ne stared at Maiko, waiting for an answer. Waiting for something. _Anything._

She spoke slowly.

“I've never known, Raze. I heard it today, just as you.” Her heartbeat was slow – she wasn't lying, thank God. “But in hindsight –” She broke off, then spoke again, “I tell you this: the person... the person who taught him to use his powers wasn't sane. He used otousan, and taught him to use others.”

“I don't care, Maiko.” Ne shook nir head. “He wasn't a _child_.” Maiko grimaced. “He _chose_ to do that, to use his pheromones to _force_ people to have sex with him. He – you know what he said?”

Maiko shook her head.

Oh, his broken whisper was still in nir ears, violently disturbing because of how tortured he'd sounded, as if _he_ was the one suffering, and not those he'd violated. “He said that they enjoyed it. His _victims_ , they _enjoyed_ it. How fucked up is that?”

She didn't seem to find it fucked up. She seemed to find it sad, her eyes filling with new tears. It was very disconcerting.

She saw the incredulity in nir eyes, because she grimaced, and lowered her eyes. “I'm not saying it excuses him, Raze. Nothing does – _nothing_. But it explains it. The... the very nature of his powers explains it.”

“You're willing to bend over backwards to forgive him.” Ne let go of her hands, too shocked to shout. Too _tired_. Ne could see that it was a strain for her – but she was willing to make that effort. And she'd been hurt just like nem, and ne couldn't be angry if _that_ was how she decided to deal with her trauma. If she decided that father still deserved her love, despite his being a fucking _rapist_.

That was the extent of the leeway ne was willing to give her. Ne could see her reasoning, her grasping at straws, and ne could, maybe, even forgive her for it; but ne wouldn't let her _convince_ nem to forgive him. Because to nem, it _was_ inexcusable.

“I won't do that, Maiko. I'm not like you. I can't forgive him.”

Her breath caught in her throat but she nodded, her eyes filled with tears and love and understanding.

“And if this shit, this stupid intervention, is just him trying to pull some _shit_ to make me forgive him, he can shove it up his ass, Maiko. You tell him, it won't work.”

She sighed – almost in resignation. “It's not like that. He doesn't expect anything like that.”

“Good, because it won't work.” Ne looked away.

“This isn't a ruse.” Hesitantly, she caught nir hands again; ne let her. Ne could tell she needed the contact, maybe more than nem. “He's not trying anything. He _accepts_ your hate, Raze.” Her voice cracked, but ne wouldn't comfort her on this.

“How kind of him.”

She made a sound – soft, abrupt. A sob. Ne turned nir hand in hers, nir fingers moving on her knuckles of their own accord. She looked wrecked, her cheeks wet with tears. It twisted nir guts.

“You really do still love him,” ne exhaled. Ne'd forgive her. Ne'd forgive this betrayal.

Her head lowered, and she pressed her forehead to nir knee. “He saved me, Raze.”

It was a low murmur. A confession. And ne saw, understood, could even imagine it – he'd saved her _from_ rape.

“Ah.” There was bile in nir throat, but it was bittersweet. Not hate, not possibly, not quite. Just a terrible sadness. “That's our difference then, sister,” ne said quietly. “Why I can't ever forgive him. He didn't save me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Quentin wouldn't give up. He wasn't going to give up. He would stay; he wouldn't abandon Daken.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

27.

“And I heard your voice  
As clear as day,  
And you told me I should concentrate.  
It was all so strange  
And so surreal,  
That a ghost should be so practical...”

Florence + the Machine – _Only if for a night_

 

 

 _'I'm going to die soon, Quentin._ '

It kept echoing in Quentin's mind, over and over again.

 _'I'm going to die soon'_ : it had been said with such terrible, terrible finality. There had been no fight in the words, just resignation. There had been an apology in those bright blue eyes; and in the tired line of Daken's mouth, there had been the gut-wrenching certainty that Quentin would surely leave him for this.

Just now? Just now when they'd finally found the courage to tell each other the extent of their feelings? Just now, when Daken needed him the most?

Nonsense. He would never leave Daken; he would never abandon him. He couldn't do such a thing. He loved Daken –

And, oh, _God_ , Daken loved him back.

 _'I'm going to die soon'_ : a stab that knocked the wind out of him. ' _Soon'_ was such a liar. Better count it in heartbeats, or in kisses, in hand-holding or smiles or quiet moments where their gazes were locked, than in minutes or hours or days. Soon, how soon? ' _Soon'_ meant nothing. ' _Soon'_ meant everything. It was a deceiver, a trickster that sneered in the shadows.

 _'Soon'_ could mean next year.

 _'Soon'_ could mean right now, as Daken lay in Quentin's arms – finally claimed by sleep after hours of clutching at Quentin's hands, of whispers and tears carefully dried. His eyes were closed now, the eyelids red and puffy as surely must be Quentin's own; his cheek pressed to Quentin's chest; his breath was quiet and warm against Quentin's heart.

Quentin threaded his fingers through Daken's hair, listening to their breathing.

 _'I'm going to die soon'_ : when there still was so much for them, so much to live, so much to give.

When there still was so much to resolve, between Daken and his children. Secrets, and pain, and lies and regret. Words never meant. Words never said. Ghosts that would never rest.

Ghosts between them, as well. Unspoken, their burden heavy. Wounds never healed, rotting beneath their skin.

 _'I'm going to die soon'_ : the shadow that had been in Daken’s eyes as he said those words... was the same shadow that had been in Evan's eyes, when Evan had decided to give up.

Quentin wouldn't give up. He wasn't going to give up. He would stay; he wouldn't abandon Daken.

He wrapped his free arm around Daken's waist.

Daken stirred, his fingers pressing against Quentin's side; his eyelids quivered, his breathing changed; he opened his eyes – clouded by sleep, by the returning memories.

He looked up at Quentin, hesitant, almost fearful; he didn't speak.

Quentin caressed his hair. “Good morning, love,” he murmured, and Daken sighed as if he'd expected something else, as if still uncertain.

“Good morning,” exhaled Daken, and then he inhaled again, and held his breath – only to breathe, so softly, “anata.”

Quentin held him, his fingers stilled between Daken's hair, the endearment foreign and so meaningful. He could tell that Daken was wondering if calling him like that was too much and too soon, because the man was looking up at him, a question in his stunning eyes.

Quentin pressed a kiss to Daken's forehead. “Daijoubu,” he reassured him, and Daken nodded, his hand moving slowly over Quentin's side. Their skin was covered in sweat – it was really hot in the room, but Quentin hadn't turned off the radiator, not wanting to risk triggering anything in Daken. The previous night's episode had been brought about by a conflation of things, and the cold, he'd surmised, was one of them – even if Daken had said that he wasn't 'really' cold. Quentin couldn't even imagine its significance, but he was sure it was something still raw and bleeding. He wouldn't pry. He would let Daken decide how much and when – or _if_ – did he want to share. “How do you feel?”

Daken grimaced.

Quentin hadn't certainly expected that a few hours of sleep could make everything right again. Still, he'd hoped it would help, even if only a little.

Daken spoke with a faint, almost scared voice. “I don't know what to do.”

“Well,” Quentin trailed his fingers between Daken's hair, “Take all the time you need. We can stay here for as much as you want.” Daken shook slightly his head, closing his hand in a weak fist around the fabric of Quentin's shirt. “Then breakfast. After that, do you want to take a walk on the lawn? I'll keep my flames on, so you'll be warm enough. We can have lunch there, there's a beautiful spot. I can read to you – I'm told it's a thing I do well. And –”

“It sounds like a date,” breathed Daken. His eyes were half-closed, his head tilted back – it seemed he enjoyed the caress, if not the picture.

“We never had one.” Quentin felt his cheeks flush. “It's silly, I know, but –” He bit the inside of his cheek.

' _Soon_ ' was a curse. A bloody blackmail.

And he felt Daken needed the distraction.

“A date,” repeated Daken, his hand relaxing, “sounds lovely.”

“Okay –” Quentin sensed the coming objection.

“I can't just stroll on the lawn while –” Daken pressed his face to Quentin's chest, his thoughts clear as if Quentin could hear them. ‘While there's so much to do, while my child hates me, while my daughter lays awake, grieved by my words.’

Quentin sighed; he spoke softly as he kept caressing Daken's hair. “It needs time, Daken. Give it time. These things need time. Trying to contact nem so soon would only estrange nem more –”

“I know that,” mumbled Daken. “I'll give nem space. And Maiko – I can't face her. I don't know what to tell her –”

“Apologizing seems like a good place to start,” said Quentin gently, and Daken stirred and raised his head, eyes glassy. “But not today. You need some space too, time to think.”

“Time to think,” muttered Daken, resting his cheek to Quentin's chest once more. “I don't have that luxury. Creed –”

“Billy took care of it.”

Daken looked at him sharply, his muscles tense; but whatever he was thinking – why hadn't Quentin woken him up to tell him, no doubt – remained unsaid. “The facility –”

“Let the others handle it,” said Quentin firmly.

“We need to investigate –”

“Let the others handle it, love.” With his free hand, Quentin caught Daken's, and laced their fingers together. “You can. You _can_ take a day off. You need to take time for yourself.”

“Time,” exhaled Daken, and he shut his eyes, and breathed quietly for a while. Quentin didn't dare say anything, just kept gently threading his fingers through Daken's hair. ' _We don't have time_ ', he'd said just a few hours ago.

 _Well,_ Quentin gritted his teeth. _We'll make it_.

“Quentin,” choked Daken, his hand tightly holding Quentin's. “What are we going to do?”

“Live,” Quentin said simply, “one day at a time.”

Daken opened his eyes then, and looked up at him with such wonder. How could he still doubt?

“Are you sure –”

“I love you.” Quentin brought their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of Daken's hand. Those eyes – they were so soft, so bright. “I love you, and I want to spend as much time as I can with you. I told you I wouldn't leave you.” Nor would he let Daken keep dealing with any of this on his own.

Daken sighed. “I never did anything to deserve you.”

“It's not about deserving, anata. It's what I feel.” What he felt, with such intensity, such luminous brightness.

Daken moved upwards, and brushed his lips against Quentin's. It was chaste – their lips pressed together, their breath mingling, nothing more. Like the previous night’s gentle kisses that had made Quentin freak out, his worst fears having just come true... too horrified at the idea that Daken might be begging for yet another round of emotional trauma to realize he was desperately looking for contact, only asking to be held. Expressing not desire, nor that self-destructive mania, too terrible to behold – no, just seeking the comfort of Quentin's presence. The rawness in Daken's voice as he said he wasn't asking for any of that – not just for a scene, but for sex altogether – had filled Quentin with shame at even thinking it.

Daken tilted back his head, such love in his eyes. “It's a date, then,” he murmured.

Quentin nodded; there was a sudden lump in his throat, and he wasn't quite sure that it came from himself.

Daken nuzzled into the crook of Quentin's shoulder. “But not on the lawn,” he murmured, “I need to get out of here.”

Quentin could certainly agree with the sentiment. There was only one problem. “You should know we'll be harassed by paparazzi.”

“Oh, I know.” Daken looked up, a flash of something like guilt in there. Being caught on camera having a good time while his children suffered? He surely didn't want that. “Can't you make people _not_ see us?”

“Too many people wear chips nowadays. Some wouldn't see us, some _would_.”

“Well then, we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way.” When Quentin arched an eyebrow in question, Daken rose to a sitting position, their hands still entwined. “Camouflage, Quentin. No costumes, but that was a given. You don't need your _characteristic_ sunglasses – the sunlight isn't so strong. And –” He bent to caress Quentin's hair, his own tickling Quentin's face. “A beanie, I think. Or you could wash the dye off...”

“That's not happening.” Quentin smiled. Seeing Daken so focused on something this normal – seeing him so relaxed – gave him hope. “A beanie will suffice.”

“Good.” Daken nodded, still absentmindedly trailing his fingers between Quentin's curls, something so radiantly soft in his gaze, so precious. “As for me, I'll simply need to style my hair differently – and wear sunglasses, I suppose.”

“You said the weather doesn't require them,” Quentin said playfully, “I demand to be allowed to wear mine.”

“They're too garish. They scream _Phoenix is here_.”

“Oh really.”

“While mine would scream _old man, the light hurts his eyes, nothing to see here_.”

Old man? Quentin grimaced. “Daken –”

“So we'd look like a kept man and his sugar daddy.” Daken put a finger to Quentin's lips. “Not like Phoenix and Akki.”

“And like a couple?” Quentin brushed his lips against Daken's finger. If Daken wanted him to ignore that comment – he could, for today.

“That too. A dashing young man and his old companion.”

“A fetching mature man and his young companion, rather.”

Daken smiled, and it melted Quentin's heart.

“It sounds perfect,” Quentin said softly, “But I'm afraid the flames are a dead giveaway.”

“What do you need them for?”

Quentin sat up – the image of Daken sitting in the shower, shivering and stuttering that he hated cold, was burned in his eyelids. “To... keep you warm.”

Daken squeezed his hand. “You don't need flames to keep me warm.” It wasn't a double entendre – there was no mischief in those stunning eyes. There was nothing but affection.

But the previous night had been bad. It had triggered something related to Romulus. Yes, it had been a conflation of things – the scene itself among them – but the cold _was_ one of them, he was sure of it. Daken had reacted strangely at the facility as well, and while at first Quentin had thought it due to the altercation with Eike, now he remembered that the facility had been freezing cold.

“Are you sure –” he began, only to be shut up again.

“I'll be fine.” Daken brought their hands up to kiss the back of Quentin's hand. “Don't worry.”

So they only needed to decide where to go, and they finally settled on Madison Square Park, in New York.

Daken needed to go to his room to get dressed, so they would meet later. Quentin insisted to take care of Daken's bloodied costume himself and he sent Daken off; he watched him walk down the corridor still wearing Quentin's pajama, and a pair of Quentin's slippers. He would have gone barefooted, but Quentin would have none of it.

Seeing Daken like that was so... normal, so domestic. Quentin's heart ached. It was a sight he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life.

But he shouldn't think about that. Sighing, Quentin closed the door and set on finding the most anonymous articles of clothing he owned. There wasn't much he could use – Creed's blood had reached most of the things that he kept in the lower part of the closet. But he found a simple pair of hard-worn jeans and a sweater that still looked good on him. There wasn't shortage of beanies – he'd gone through a _phase_ when he was younger – so that only left finding a coat.

Billy agreed to lend him one; and he commented, very quietly, that a day out sounded like a good idea, given Daken's state. The events of the previous day had shocked all of the X-Men – and they hadn't even witnessed the worst of it.

Jubilation told him the same when he contacted her to say he would take the day off teaching. He felt mildly guilty at the thought of leaving the school and abandon the X-Men to work, despite what he'd told Daken – but he knew that at least the kids would welcome the unexpected vacation, and then Jubilation reassured him that they got it all covered.

Next he went down to Broo's lab – both to put the bloodied clothes into the _superior_ washing machine they'd developed over the years and to inquire about Jean's health. She was still out – he'd suspected that; after all, he'd have noticed it if she’d regain consciousness... he would probably have been woken up by that same faint pull he'd experienced at the facility.

Broo took a look at him and left Jean's side to join him as Quentin started the washer. He didn't speak – he stood in silence, wings quivering gently, as Quentin turned and surveyed the lab. The blood was gone: no one could have ever guessed that a mangled corpse had lain not so far from where the both of them stood.

“Are you all right?” asked Broo eventually, gently nudging him with a wing.

“Sure.” Quentin smiled at his friend, but Broo emitted an exasperated sigh.

“You act as if I haven't known you for _decades_ , Quentin.”

“Well, it's not an easy moment.” Quentin settled against the washing machine. “But I've decided not to worry. Carpe diem, and all that. God knows we need it.”

“And it's not an easy moment because...?”

“Weren't you _here_ yesterday?” Quentin turned to look at Broo in astonishment, but his friend was wearing the most innocent look in the world. Ah, he wanted to make Quentin _talk._ Quentin sighed. “Daken's really upset. Seeing him like that – it was upsetting.”

“I don't imagine it got any easier when you were alone.”

“We managed.”

Broo hesitated. “Idie told me you contacted her. She said you looked like you'd been crying. Did he do something to –”

“Look.” Quentin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Try witnessing the man you love curled up in a shower because he's so overwhelmed by what happened and by resurfacing memories that he's seriously considering hurting himself.” The words came in a rush – he hadn't meant to expose Daken like this, but Broo was a friend. And he knew about Daken's history with self-harm. “And _then_ you can ask me why would I cry.” Then what Broo had said really hit him with force. “Did you seriously just ask me if he _hurt_ me?”

“I don't think he'd do it on purpose.” Broo wriggled his hands. “He's prone to lashing out, Quentin, it wasn't unreasonable of me to worry about that. So he took it all on himself instead. It isn't that much healthier.”

“It wasn't easy, no.” Quentin sighed. “But we managed.”

“I see that.” Broo cocked his head. “You said – you love him.”

“Yeah. Why? Did you doubt it?”

“Not me.” Broo's red eyes glistened. “Did you tell him?” he asked gently.

“Yes.” Quentin bit his lower lip. “And – he loves me too.”

Broo pulled him into a fierce hug, his motion so sudden that Quentin collided with his exoskeleton and had the wind knocked out of him. He embraced his friend back hesitantly – what had prompted such a reaction? “Broo?”

“I'm happy for you, Quentin.” Broo’s outer teeth were clattering in joy. “So happy.”

“Thanks,” breathed Quentin, stunned.

“And know that I'm always here for you.” Broo released him from his bear hug and caught him by the shoulders. He was smiling so broadly that, had he been any other member of the Brood, Quentin would have feared for his life.

His _life_.

The thought sucked everything else out of him, a sudden urgency filling his veins. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course!” Broo sobered – he must have seen something in Quentin's eyes. “What is it?”

“I –” He'd just said _carpe diem_ , damn him. He'd just told Daken that they'd live one day at a time.

The future was set in stone. He knew it, and yet – he felt it, so terrible and so violent, a replay of worse times: an urge to do something. The same urge that had taken Evan, and what had it all brought to? Countless deaths, and years of misery.

He couldn't, couldn't even _think_ about it... about trying and changing the future.

But knowing – it was different. Wasn't it?

“It's confidential, I know that. But – when you did a check-up on Daken... you did one when I hit him, right?”

“Yes.” Broo cocked his head. “And another one after D.C.”

“Okay. And – did you find anything strange? Some illness, some strange mass in his body?” If it was to come so soon, Daken must be ill, perhaps even right now. He'd said he _wasn't_ ill, but maybe he didn't know yet.

“It _is_ confidential –”

Quentin grabbed his arm. “ _Please_ , Broo. I have to know.”

Broo studied him attentively – he saw Quentin was agitated, because he sighed and capitulated. “There's nothing to know. There was nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm quite sure, Quentin.” Broo looked up. “Why? Does he feel unwell?”

Quentin ignored the question. Psychologically, Daken wasn't certainly well, and Broo knew it. “If I convince him to come here and let you do another check-up – will you do a full one? Maybe something escaped your notice –”

“Quentin, nothing escaped my notice.” Broo squeezed his shoulders. “You can tell me. What is it?”

He ached to tell him – but he couldn't, not without Daken's knowledge. He'd manage to convince Daken to open up about it and then he would be free to discuss it with his friend... or with anyone else.

“You can't be sure. I'll make him come, okay?” Quentin stepped back. Broo let go of him, worry visible in his glistening eyes.

“All right. But don't – don't make me wait too long, Quentin. _You_ don't wait too long.”

“Don't worry, Broo.” He offered a smile to his friend. “I won't.”

 

* * *

 

After a quick breakfast and a trip to the kitchen, Quentin was ready to leave all such thoughts behind. He was determined on not letting anything poison this day; he was determined on making Daken feel well, and content, and relaxed, as if nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – was wrong. He could do it: a measure of peace was long overdue.

He could pretend. It was nothing more than what countless people before him had done – as if Daken really _was_ terminally ill, and they both knew and had to face it. He would put on a smile and spend a beautiful day, because that was Daken needed right now – he needed not to think about the day before. He needed an outlet, a safe space.

They would discuss everything – but not now. Quentin could wait.

He stepped onto the lawn and looked around – Daken was waiting for him outside.

When he did locate him, Quentin had to stop walking.

Daken looked breathtaking.

He stood near the statue of the first Jean Grey, and he wore a long grey coat and a scarlet scarf that really complimented his features. His hair was loose – some of it was tucked into the scarf – and he was wearing his reading glasses.

Quentin would have recognized him anywhere, but he supposed that to an untrained eye he wouldn't look like the newest Japanese addition to the X-Men – just like an exceedingly beguiling man.

He wasn't alone.

Jessica Williams stood in front of him. Everything in the young woman's bodylanguage screamed unease: she kept at a distance, her arms crossed to shield herself. And yet she stood there, and talked. Daken was listening, head tilted slightly. Quentin didn't know what was she saying – he wouldn't pry – but he could guess.

And so his careful plan had been disrupted before they even left the school.

He moved – he ached to stop it, to rescue Daken and spirit him away, to comfort him – but he stopped. Williams deserved some peace as well. She deserved such confrontation.

“I told her it wasn't a good idea,” said someone behind him. Startled, Quentin spun on his heels; Donna Kiel leant against the wall, arms crossed, a grimace on her face.

“Kiel.” He nodded at her, then looked back at the pair. Daken was talking; Williams' shoulders were set. “If she thinks she can find solace in it –”

“ _Solace?_ ” repeated Kiel, incredulity in her voice. “That man _tortured_ her father. You saw the photos.”

“Yeah.” Quentin turned to face her. The images had been disturbing, and another corpse rose to his memory – Creed's corpse. “He did. Do you know what do they _do_ to mutants with healing factors, Agent Kiel?”

She clenched her teeth. “Yes.”

“Do you _remember_ what we saw yesterday? _Kids_ being tortured?” he pressed on, taking a step towards her. “Do you remember that his _child_ was tortured on Williams' orders?” She stood still, her nostrils flaring. She wasn't easily intimidated.

“Regardless of any of that, Williams should have stood _trial_.”

He stared at her in utter disbelief. She knew her agency was corrupt, she knew there was something rotten very high in the government, and she said something like that? “Yes, of course. He would have been found _not guilty_ , but you're right.”

“I see. So you'd be judge, jury, and executioner.” Kiel pushed herself off the wall. “I clearly misjudged you, Phoenix. You're no hero, you're a vigilante.”

“I am what I need to be.”

Kiel shook her head. “You can't dispatch your warped view of justice, Phoenix. It's not how this country works.”

“No, this country prefers to turn a blind eye over mutants' suffering. I know that very well,” he spat. “We aren't going to sit quietly anymore, Kiel. That man,” he pointed at Daken, “That man did the right thing, and I'll stand by _it_ and _him_.”

Kiel shook her head. “Oh, he warped you real good, I can see that.”

“ _Warped_ me? You don't know me, Agent Kiel. Kindly take your assumptions somewhere else.” Quentin was mildly aware that a few kids that were roaming the lawn – none other than his own students – were staring at the both of them. Had he raised his voice? He didn't think so.

But it was slightly warmer than when he'd stepped outside.

He dismissed the flames he'd unconsciously emitted. He hadn't meant to look threatening – but Kiel hadn't even winced. She had nerves of steel, that woman.

“He tried to change me too,” she hissed. “He said that we were both _damaged_ and we _needed_ each other.” She raised her prosthetic. “He didn't like it that I said no.”

He stared at her hand. He'd wondered what had happened exactly – who was she to Daken – but he hadn't imagined something quite like that. Still, he didn't think she was lying – she had no reason to.

“I'm sorry about your hand,” he said quietly. “But he isn't like that anymore.”

“Monsters don't change.”

“Don't you _dare_ call him monster.” And now he could hear them, the screeches in his ears. “You don't know him.”

“I know that a man that tortures another person like that needs to be put down.”

“Don't you –” How dare she, how _dare_ she –

“Oi.” Robert appeared on his line of sight – between him and Kiel. “Everything all right?”

Quentin was surrounded by flames again. Jesus Christ, this had to stop. He dismissed them in haste. Kiel looked at him from behind Robert's shoulder, ice in her grey eyes.

“Everything's fine, Iceman. Thank you.” That scathing tone meant the exact opposite, but Robert nodded. Kiel then left, not even sparing Quentin a glace, and retreated inside the building.

Robert was looking at him with a very intense gaze. “What was that, Quentin?”

“Nothing.” Quentin turned to search for Daken – he was alone; Williams was walking up to the school. Seeing him filled Quentin with relief.

Put Daken down? Like an _animal_? How could Kiel even think that?

“It didn't look like nothing. You scared the kids.”

“She called him a _monster_ , Robert.”

Robert held his breath and released it quietly. “You know we don't think that.”

Quentin turned to look at him – Robert's voice had a strange quality to it, and his eyes were very soft as well. “Don’t worry, Robert, I know that he isn't a saint. But he _isn't_ a monster either.”

“And I told you I agree.” Robert nodded towards the bag Quentin was holding. “Go take that walk. You both need it.”

That was certainly true.

He tried to calm down as he went to join Daken. To bury away the irritation – the sheer rage – at Kiel's words. They didn't merit any further attention.

Daken cocked his head when Quentin reached him. “What happened?” He must have seen everything – Quentin only hoped he'd been far enough not to hear anything.

“That woman's a stuck-up pain in the ass, that's what happened.”

Daken arched an eyebrow. “She _is_ terribly self-righteous.”

“Yeah.” Quentin sighed. He searched Daken's eyes for some sign of turmoil, but he found none. “Are you okay?”

“Jessica had to vent. Nothing I couldn't handle, dearest.” Daken slid his arm under Quentin's and held his forearm. The gesture was so domestic, and done with such ease – Quentin's heartbeat sped up. “Shall we?”

They teleported to the teleportation point that was directly inside the park. The temperature seemed good, not too low, and there were no clouds in sight; which, considering the current situation, Quentin was grateful about. He still wondered how the cold came into it – he couldn't do much if he didn't know how exactly it affected Daken, but he wasn't going to risk accidentally triggering him.

Daken seemed fine, though. He hummed and looked around as they blended with the crowd – it was a weekday and school wasn't over yet, so there were mostly adults, but still... Quentin would have preferred less people.

“Look, there's a new installation! Oh, I haven't come here in a while.” Daken let go of Quentin's arm only to grab his hand and lead him forward, a look of genuine excitement on his face. It was a joy to see him like this. Oh, he'd worried Daken would put on a mask for his sake, as he was doing, but this – looked so heartfelt, so precious. He looked perfect. Quentin's chest ached at seeing the light in Daken's eyes, the interest with which he was studying the stunning glass sculpture in front of them, a confusing jumble of tubes that seemed almost to swirl.

Daken turned towards him. “You know, it's hit or miss with modern art for me. I'm a regular snob.”

Quentin nodded, lost in Daken's bright blue eyes. They looked – clear. He'd missed that look.

Daken glanced back at the installation. “But this is good. It isn't nonsense like other things in this park.” He said it with utter disregard of the people around them. There was a strange paper construction to their right that seemed to get much more attention than the glass sculpture, and Daken's comment earned them a few glares.

Quentin shook himself. “Wait, you don't like this park? We can go somewhere else...”

“No, it's perfect.” Daken's eyes softened. “It's small, quiet. I love it.” He brought up their linked hands and kissed Quentin's gloved palm.

If Quentin could have melted, he would have. This was bliss – the two of them just strolling, quietly talking, Daken kissing his hand from time to time. The park was lovely – not as packed as he'd initially thought. One could easily walk without stumbling into other people.

It was a little bubble. Outside, there were many things to worry about. The clones, the corruption – politics. Outside, Daken ached for his children and Quentin ached for the future, but here all was well. Daken was smiling and Quentin kept losing himself in his eyes and their fingers were entwined and all was well – all would always be well.

They kept a leisurely pace but the park wasn't exactly big, so they'd soon seen all installations. Still, they kept wondering aimlessly, enjoying the scenery and the mild weather and each other's company.

“For our next date,” said Daken at some point, as they coasted the park's pool, “we're going at the Opera.”

“Sure.” Quentin stopped to watch their reflection in the water. Daken looked... fine. Calm, relaxed. Quentin himself burst with a happiness he wanted to shout for the world to hear. If only he could stop time, and store away this moment.

“What would you like to watch?” Daken squeezed his hand.

“Oh, I have no idea.” Quentin laughed. “I'm terribly ignorant.”

“Something not too famous,” mused Daken, “So you won't have preconceptions.”

“I really don't know much about operas,” began Quentin, but Daken had turned to face him, bringing up their hands. He was humming a melody – really softly, not too loud; after a while, Quentin could make out the words.

“O mattutina brezza! O cielo, è un segno tuo la forza che m'agita e travaglia? L'aspirazione che mi avvampa 1'animo è forse un segno di tua volontà? Ebbene, voglio, voglio, s'io risusciti, tendere il passo alle vette più ardue, ambire, osare, sperare, tentare e creare, creare...”

It was Italian. Quentin couldn't understand the words but they resonated within him – they were filled with melancholy and hope at the same time, they vibrated with a force slowly building.

He felt a lump in his throat.

Daken pressed Quentin's hand to his chest, kept it there as his voice died with the last word. His eyes were the brightest thing Quentin had ever seen.

“What –” Quentin cleared his voice. “What was that?”

Daken shook his head, and grimaced a smile. “Perhaps not.”

He turned to lead him away; Quentin stumbled after him. “Wait, what was that?”

“Operas are usually about tragedies, Quentin. Even some that you could argue end well, in reality leave an acidic aftertaste in your mouth.” Daken shook his head again, not turning to look at him. “I should bring you to see one of the few truly happy ones.” There was a tinge of regret in his voice – as if apologizing for darkening the mood. But Quentin hadn't even understood the words – they had a beautiful strength, in truth.

“Daken –”

Daken turned, a grin on his face. “Are you hungry? I'm starving.”

“I -” Quentin stood still, uncertain. He was torn between asking what had upset Daken and respecting his wish.

Maybe they were both pretending for the sake of each other. Maybe Daken wasn't truly happy to be here, and was indulging Quentin.

Daken tugged at his hand. “Come,” he said, so softly. “Let's eat.”

“You'd tell me if you wanted to leave, right?” Quentin worried his lower lip. “If you felt uncomfortable or –”

“There's nowhere I'd rather be.” Daken reached him, nothing but honesty in his eyes, and oh, such a softness. They stood so close, their breaths little clouds forming between them – it was getting a little colder. Daken nuzzled his cheek. “I promise, anata.”

“If you're sure –”

“Of course.” Daken took the bag from him and led him to a bench.

They sat, but Quentin couldn't feel the earlier peace anymore. Daken removed his gloves and proceeded to empty the bag Quentin had carefully prepared and Quentin couldn't do anything else than search his face for signs of discomfort.

And yet Daken looked fine again. All swept under the rag, or worse. Was he pretending? He smiled so brightly.

Was he happy? Truly, was he?

Daken was peeling the boiled eggs, letting the shells fall into the box that had contained them. He wouldn't look up, focused on his work, humming contentedly. His features were truly relaxed. He couldn't fake that – Quentin had seen that look before. He was content. Truly content.

“Here.” Daken passed him an egg, then cocked an eyebrow at him. “You should take the gloves off, dearest.”

Quentin heaved a sigh. If Daken was fine – if he truly felt fine -

He removed the gloves and accepted the egg. “Thank you,” he murmured. He would keep an eye out, but wouldn't let his worries ruin the day.

Daken ended up eating the remaining two eggs. He really must be starving – he hadn't eaten the day before, and Quentin didn't know if he'd even had breakfast that morning. He felt guilty at only having packed a simple salad, which he eventually left to Daken after a few forkfuls.

When Daken finished, he just sat there, head tilted towards the sun, eyes closed, looking so precious, so endearing, so perfect that Quentin felt his chest ache. There was the softest smile on Daken's lips, the warmest look on his face.

Quentin wanted to use his telekinesis to move away their leftovers, not wanting to disrupt such peace, but that would surely out him as Phoenix. He took the bag slowly, with utmost care, but Daken opened his eyes and turned to look at him, gaze disconcertingly clear. “Thank you.”

“It's nothing.” Quentin located the nearest trash bin and made a quick trip to it.

When he returned, Daken caught his hand and urged him to sit down again. As soon as he did it, Daken leant against him, warm and soft, a sigh on his lips, and he rested his head upon Quentin's shoulder. “I meant for this, Quentin,” he murmured. “Thank you for this.”

Quentin kissed Daken's hair. “The answer's the same.”

Daken squeezed his hand and brought it up to kiss it. His lips hovered above Quentin's skin, his breath so quiet and warm. “Can we stay for a while?”

“For as long as you want, love.” It stung, to hear it asked like that, as if it was a request. This was an escape, and it was painfully clear. A little perfect bubble, time frozen in a peaceful tableau, the two of them standing against an oncoming storm, the sun still shining through.

“This is –” Daken's voice cracked, filling Quentin with alarm. “the happiest I've ever been since... since...” He broke off, pressed his mouth to Quentin's hand; something wet reached Quentin's knuckles.

Chest aching, Quentin raised his free hand to tilt Daken's face towards him.

Daken was crying. There was a smile too, a little soft thing, but his cheeks were wet.

“Are you -”

“ _Don't_.” It was almost guttural. A vicious prayer. Daken clutched at Quentin's hand and furiously dried his tears with the back of his hand, causing his glasses to fall onto his lap. “I'm fine. _God_.”

“You don't look fine –”

“I don't know why I'm crying.” Daken fumbled for the glasses and put them back on. “I swear I'm fine. I'm _happy_.”

It certainly wasn't unheard of, to burst out sobbing while feeling happy. Still, Quentin searched Daken's eyes – but found only honesty, and utter puzzlement. He was blinking quickly, trying to rid himself of the tears. He looked so thoroughly confused by his own reaction; it made Quentin's heart ache.

“It's okay,” Quentin murmured then, gently squeezing Daken's hand. “It's normal.”

Daken shook his head as he cleared his throat, his fingers wrapped around Quentin's. “I swear I'm fine –”

“I know.” Quentin cupped Daken's cheek. “I understand, Daken. It's – what I feel, too. It's been – a while for me too.” Unbidden, as if he'd called upon them, a few tears gathered at the corners of his eyes too. But he felt good. He felt warm, and happy. “Just sitting here with you, I –” he smiled. “I love you so much.” _I don't want to lose you_.

No, he shouldn't think about that, not now.

The thought must have, nonetheless, reflected on his face, because Daken reached up to cradle his face. “I love you too. I -” he broke to an almost self-deprecating smile. “You make me so happy. I didn't know I needed this until we were here, but you knew. You always know.” He tilted his head, his breath brushing against Quentin's lips. “Soba ni ite kurete arigatou.”

Their kiss was gentle and slow, soft and utterly unheated. They could stay like this forever – their fingers caressing each other's jaw, threading through their hair; their lips moving just barely. It was enough. It was the only thing he could have ever desired, and he wished for it to never end, for time to still and allow them to stay here, in each other's arms, their worries forgotten... the pain brushed aside, unimportant.

Daken cupped his face and ghosted kisses all over his face – his jawline, his cheeks. Quentin was beginning to grasp the importance of the gesture, something Daken did so rarely. It was always during moments of terrible vulnerability, and Quentin ached to do it back - to tell Daken that he was there... that he would always be there.

Daken stilled as he kissed an eyelid – it was a brief moment; then he kissed his way down to Quentin's ear. “Someone's taking pictures.”

It was Quentin's turn to still. “What?”

Daken moved back, his gaze truly murderous – eyes dark and hard. It froze the blood in Quentin's veins.

Daken lowered his head and brought a hand up to seemingly fix his scarf, but he was surveying the crowd. Quentin didn't move, so as not to alert the voyeur. Was it a journalist?

Daken looked back at him. “The giggling idiot with the green scarf.”

A giggling idiot? Quentin looked around surreptitiously and located a young man that appeared to be texting at stunning speed, a huge stupid grin on his face.

It was much worse than a journalist. That, Quentin could have handled.

This, though?

“Can you destroy his phone?”

Quentin fished for his own. “It's probably too late.” He did a mental scan as he began browsing social media, but to no avail: the kid probably wore a TeBlo.

“What are you doing?” Daken whispered urgently, “If you dismantle it now, we can avoid...”

“Too late,” replied Quentin, having found what he was looking for. He tilted his phone so that Daken could see the screen.

The first photo was some minutes old; they couldn't do anything about it. It showed the two of them kissing on the bench and had already way too many likes and reblogs. The caption read: _@darkfire OMG are they #XPhoenix and #XAkki?_

The second photo was worse. It was a close-up of Daken kissing Quentin's face, their expressions soft and relaxed and very much open, and the thought of hundreds – for _now_ – of hysterical fans seeing such a private moment filled Quentin with rage. The caption was deeply disrespectful, too: _@darkfire OMG OMG they totally are #XPhoenix and #XAkki! #OTP #awetdreamcometrue #wheresthetongue_

Quentin glanced at Daken. He was staring down at the screen, his eyes closed into slits, his jaw clenched. Quentin felt his same fury, rolling hot in his veins, and distant screeches in his ears –

He spoke against the white noise. He feared that, if he didn't say anything, he would drown into the flames. “ _Darkfire_ is... it's my fan club.”

“I know that.” Daken's voice had a low, dangerous quality. His nostrils were flaring. He took the phone from Quentin's hand and began swiping down the reblogs. Quentin knew by experience not to do that, but Daken seemed pretty resolute. Quentin could only glance over Daken's shoulder and pray it wouldn't be a complete trainwreck.

_they're together? OMG!!!_

_Akki's ancient, Phoenix can do better_

_that's fake, guys_

“ _Akki's ancient, Phoenix can do better” speak for yourself, that man's hella fine_

“ _that's fake, guys” ummm that's PINK hair under the beanie! and he totally looks like Phoenix, come on!_

“ _they're together? OMG!!!” nah, they fucking_

“ _speak for yourself, that man's hella fine” right? shit, I'd ride him_

“ _nah, they fucking” oh COME ON look at them they're totally in love!!!! #OTP #interracialcouple !!!_

“ _speak for yourself, that man's hella fine” he's like what, fifty? looks life fifty. EWWWWW imagine how it's down there!_

“ _right? shit, I'd ride him” oh, ohhhh, guys, guyyyys, who tops?_

“ _he's like what, fifty? looks life fifty. EWWWWW imagine how it's down there!” you're a moron. I want to have his babies_

“ _nah, they fucking” jeeeeez they're so hot #wherethehellisthetongue #please_

“ _oh, ohhhh, guys, guyyyys, who tops?” I'LL FIND OUT if they don't mind me joining in_

“ _you're a moron. I want to have his babies” he probably can't have babies anymore #sorry #nohalfbreedsforyou_

“ _oh, ohhhh, guys, guyyyys, who tops?” come on, we all know it's Phoenix_

“ _he probably can't have babies anymore #sorry #nohalfbreedsforyou” you racist ageist piece of SHIT_

“ _I'LL FIND OUT if they don't mind me joining in” GET IN THE MIDDLE DO IT FOR US #dreamthreesome_

“ _jeeeeez they're so hot #wherethehellisthetongue #please” OH MY GOD I just thought! what if they do fireplay!!! #illbeinmybunk_

“ _GET IN THE MIDDLE DO IT FOR US #dreamthreesome” ohhhh god yes ask them!!!! And take pictures!!!!!_

Christ, it was worse than anything Quentin had ever witnessed from the _firechicks_. He was used to it – he didn't like it, but this wasn't the first time he witnessed an erotic fantasy starring him. Like many people, his fans seemed to find broody and dangerous a winning combination, and they were very vocal about how much it turned them on. He wasn't sure of how Daken would take it, but he certainly wasn't in the mood for patience, what with his worries and the fact he'd just been exposed –

The tips of Daken's claws were visible.

Quentin covered Daken's hands with his. “Are you okay?”

Daken closed the app and shook his head. No, he didn't look fine. He'd shut his eyes, and there was a look of such exhaustion on his face.

Quentin squeezed his hands gently. “Love?”

“No, I'm not okay. Animals can't seem to be _able_ to think about anything _else_.” Daken freed one hand to press it to his eyes after raising his glasses. “I'm so _tired_.” His voice cracked. “I can't stand it anymore, I _hate_ it –” He lowered his head.

From the wording, it seemed he was referring to being objectified. And he talked about _animals_ , again, like he'd said the day before –

Given his past, and what had transpired so few hours ago, it was damn understandable.

Quentin spoke softly. “Do you want to get back to the school?”

At that, Daken opened his eyes. “And let that cretin ruin this further? _No_.” He gritted his teeth. “I don't want to get back. I want to spend time with you, like we'd planned.” He looked at him, such adamant resolution in his eyes.

“Okay.” Quentin squeezed Daken's hand. “But we should go elsewhere. It's probably going to get crowded in here soon.” Paparazzi would jump at the opportunity; and journalists would want to know about the X-Men's stand on Jean's stay in Madripoor, and about Edmondson's accusation of the day before.

“I don't _care,_ ” spat Daken.

“Love,” murmured Quentin. “You didn't want to get caught on camera –”

“What's the point? The photos are out there now.” Daken's voice shook. “There's nothing I can do about that. My children will see I went on a _date_ after what happened, and they'll draw their own conclusions.” He was pale beyond measure. “I won't let that idiot ruin _this_ too,” his voice cracked, yet again.

It had taken just one disrespectful moron to ruin everything. They'd been fine, or as much fine as they could be – they'd been _happy_. And the kid had ruined everything.

Screeches pierced his ears. Quentin fought to overcome the cacophony, to focus on the man in front of him. Oh, how it burned, the fury.

“I'm sorry,” he choked out.

Daken held his hands. “You have nothing to apologize for, dearest.”

“He's _my_ fan –”

“Vermin crawl out of the dirt all the time.” Daken brought up Quentin's hand to brush his lips against it. “It's hardly your fault.” His nostrils flared mid-kiss. “He's crawling here.” Oh no, the little shit wouldn't dare approach them –

But he was. Quentin turned to see him at a few feet from them already. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Quentin look at him, but then kept walking, a nervous smile on his irritating face, phone in hand – completely oblivious to the warning in Quentin's eyes, to how rigidly sat Daken.

He reached them. “Hi, uhm – Phoenix?”

Quentin nodded. He didn't trust his voice. He thought a screech could come out of his mouth.

If the kid asked if he could ' _get in the middle_ ', Quentin would have roasted him on the spot.

“Ohmygod. I'm, huh, I'm sorry to bother you – am I bothering you?” He didn't wait for an answer, obviously. “Can I, oh God, please, can I have your autograph?”

 _This is your fault_ , Quentin wanted to tell him. He wanted to take the stupid kid and choke him. Crush him onto the ground and set fire to his body. They'd been fine and now they _weren't_ , because the kid couldn't keep it in his pants.

“Sure.” Quentin fought to keep any alarming sounds out of his voice. “Where?”

“Oh my God! Thank you.” The little shit beamed like a child at Christmas. Quentin didn't even know if he and Daken would _get_ to the coming Christmas. “Thank you so much, really, I love you –”

“You know what I love?” Quentin clenched his teeth. Daken squeezed his hand, a minute gesture to tell him he should calm down. It was warmer around them – Quentin didn't need to look around; he knew he was surrounded by flames. The kid looked slightly alarmed, too. “To be left _alone_.”

“I – huh –” The kid took a step back. Quentin held him to the spot. _Amazing_ thing, telekinesis.

“What are we wearing?” Quentin stood. Screeches, screeches in his ears –

“What –”

“It's a simple question. What are we wearing?”

“Ci-ci-civvies?”

“Civvies. Do we look like we want to be recognized?”

“N-no?”

“Do we look like we want to be harassed by a rabid fanboy?”

“I only asked –”

“Oh, you asked permission to get _pictures_?” snarled Quentin. The boy yelped and let go of his phone, that was now fuming. It fell to the ground. “ _That's_ my autograph.”

A hand on his arm. “Quentin.”

Quentin looked at Daken, who shook his head to point to their surroundings – he looked past Daken: they had the attention of the crowd. Some were _filming_ , varying degrees of shock on their faces; others were teleporting away – teleporting to _safety._

It looked way too much like another X-Man losing it and starting threatening humans. It looked like what Jean had done in D.C. before _killing_ those humans.

And he'd set a precedent, in Tokyo. Threatening the cop live, before fleeing and going to that bar and –

Quentin released the kid, who backed away, terror in his eyes. Quentin had just lost a fan – but better that, than hurting the kid as he kept seeing in his mind's eye.

“Next time, please respect people's privacy.” Daken spoke quietly from his side, his hand still on Quentin's arm. The kid just stared at them, eyes wide. People in the crowd were still filming. “Quentin, I think we should get back,” murmured Daken.

Not trusting his voice, Quentin nodded.

Daken teleported them onto the school's lawn, back where they'd departed from: beside the statue. Quentin grabbed at Daken's arm.

“I -”

“Quentin, it's all right.” Daken guided him to lean against the statue; there were a few kids on the lawn, who were staring at the two of them, some with phones in their hands. Had someone back at the park been live posting their video? Was that why the students looked alarmed?

Or maybe it was just due to the flames surrounding him and Daken.

“Quentin.” Daken cupped his face. “Breathe, dearest.”

“... I wanted to hurt him.” Saying out loud made it realer. It wasn't the first time he was so angry he wanted to hurt someone, but this time it was over a really small offence.

“I noticed that.” Daken caressed his face. “You didn't, though.”

“I wanted to… he ruined everything, I… our date, he…”

“He's fine, anata. You didn't harm him.” Daken caught his hand. “It's all right. Nothing happened.”

All right? Nothing was all right. It was all ruined, he'd hoped he could take Daken's mind off worse things and he hadn't managed to, and then he'd threatened a kid –

With a sigh, Daken got closer, a slight hesitation in his eyes. “Dearest. You're scaring the students.”

“I know.” He vanished the flames, but he kept seeing the young man's terrified eyes, kept hearing Daken cry out that he was _tired_ –

“I –” Daken got closer still. “I can -” he inhaled deeply, then spoke in a murmur. “Dearest, I can calm you down with my pheromones, if you give me your permission.”

That was what he was so hesitant about – the previous night came to Quentin's mind, the twisted web he'd entangled himself and Daken into, to prove to Daken he trusted him...

And he still did. He always would. “Yes. Please.”

Daken leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, breathing quietly. It was slow, and gradual, but Quentin could breathe now, breathe with Daken, his muscles relaxing. He held onto him, his arms tight around Daken, and he hid his face in the crook of Daken's neck, against the warm wool. Daken cradled the back of his head, and they stood like this – oh, he didn't know for how long, but it didn't matter. It was peace. It was bliss. It was a moment of calm, everything forgotten save the fact they were in each other's arms. And all could be well as long as they were together.

He hadn't harmed the kid – just scared him. He hadn't harmed anyone. He'd controlled himself.

He'd controlled himself.

Eventually Daken moved back and cupped his face once more, the softest look in his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“Okay.” Daken caressed Quentin's face, oh, so lovingly. “I'm glad.”

Quentin covered Daken's hands with his. “How about you?”

“Me?” Daken cocked an eyebrow. “I'm fine, dearest.”

“No, don't do that.” Quentin shook his head. “Don't _pretend_. I can take it. I'm _here_ , Daken.” He wasn't fine, and Quentin knew it. He'd seen it, after all, and Daken couldn't really think he could simply hide it and pretend nothing had happened. They'd live one day at a time, he'd promised Daken; and he didn't want him to shoulder all that alone.

They'd be together. They were in this together.

Daken sighed. “What I told you – it's true. This is the happiest I've been in a long time. _You_ make me happy. I'm not pretending, I'm basking in that feeling for as long as I can.” He pressed his forehead to Quentin's. “It's selfish, I know. But for a little while – I can live this silly fantasy where I'm with you, and nothing's wrong.”

Quentin felt his chest ache. “Daken –” He kissed Daken's palm. “It isn't selfish.”

Daken just smiled that self-deprecating grimace.

“It's not,” pressed Quentin, “You're coping. You need this – the space. No one can take it all upon their shoulders and keep going on, and on, and on – you'd explode.” _You have already_. “I promise you, you aren't being selfish.”

“I guess I'll have to believe you.” Daken sighed. “Unfortunately, time's up.”

Before Quentin had the time to understand what Daken meant, Daken let go of him, taking some steps back, allowing him to see Jubilation stalking on the lawn and coming directly towards them.

She looked furious, her sane eye closed into a slit.

“What was that stunt you pulled at Madison Square Park?” she demanded as way of greeting.

Daken put himself between the two of them. “That kid's fine, Lee.”

She looked him up and down. “I'm glad to see you're more like yourself.” There was genuine relief in Jubilation's voice. “That doesn't change the fact you two made a mess.”

“He had problems with the concept of boundaries.” Daken cocked his head. “Quentin explained it to him.”

“Quentin _threatened_ him.”

“Come on, Lee, you know he wouldn't hurt a fly.” Daken turned to look at Quentin, a vicious protectiveness in his gaze.

“ _I_ know that.” She rubbed her scarred eye. “The public doesn't. You need to be careful, Quentin.”

“I know.” Quentin pushed himself off the statue. “Sorry, Jubilation.”

“Apologizing to me won't solve anything,” she grimaced. “We need to tread _carefully_.”

There was something in her voice as she spoke – something unsaid.

They both must have the same question in their eyes, because she sighed. “Something... happened.”

“Something happened.” Daken crossed his arms. “Something that compels us to be more careful than usual. What?”

She sighed again, heavily, then turned and bade them follow her.

“Laura watched the videos,” she said as they walked.

“You _let_ her?” Daken was by her side in an instant, worried about his sister. “Lee, you forbid us to watch them for a reason. How is she? How could you -”

“I didn't ‘let her’ do anything.” Quentin could hear the regret in Jubilation's voice. “You know how she is. She snuck into my office, watched them, and confronted us.”

“ _Confronted_ you?” Quentin furrowed his brows.

“She said if we'd let her and Daken watch the videos, they would've immediately noticed what escaped our attention.”

“What did she notice?” asked Daken as they entered the school.

“She says she knows the speakers. I'm thinking you should take a look yourself.” Jubilation was leading them towards the conference room. “Broo's still running a scan, but even if it confirms what Laura says, it only gives us the identity of one of the speakers. The other person – Laura recognized him, but we don't have anything with which to run a voice recognition program –”

“You'd make him watch that.” Quentin realized his voice was shaking. “How could you? That shit's horrifying.”

“I know.” Jubilation turned to look at the both of them, an apology in her eye as she looked at Daken. “I wouldn't, if it weren't important.”

“It's all right,” said Daken.

“No, it's not.” Quentin grabbed his arm. “Daken, you can't watch them.” Horrid images came to his mind, fragments of the little clones' torture.

“I can take it, dearest.” Daken covered Quentin's hand with his. “If I can make myself useful, I will.”

“But –”

“It's all right.” That was definitive; Quentin wouldn't be able to change his mind about this. It was something he could do for his child, towards whom he felt so terribly guilty; so he would do it, no questions asked, no room for doubt.

Jubilation looked between the two of them. “It's just the last part of the last video. Not easy to watch, but neither is it the most troublesome.”

In the last part of the last video, a man apparently in charge of the project had been talking with a man who seemed to be high in the military.

“I understand.” Daken took a breath, then resumed their walk. “And I notice you're not telling me _who_ does Laura think they are.”

“That could influence you.”

“True.”

They made their way to the conference room. As it was, only Laura and Broo were there – the latter bent on his instruments.

Laura looked very controlled, but her closed fists trembled slightly – a telltale sign that she was upset.

Broo looked up at them – his gaze lingered longer on Daken – but then went back to work. “I'm almost done, Jubilation.”

“Yes. I brought Daken in for a second opinion.”

“Is it necessary?” Even Laura's voice trembled. “There's no need for the both of us to –”

“I'm fine, sister.” Daken reached her and, after a brief moment of hesitation, he laid a hand on her arm. “I should've known you'd have done this.”

Laura looked to the side. “There's no need for you to watch it, Daken.”

“I disagree,” said Daken gently. He sat beside her. “I'm told we need a confirmation.”

“I'm sure of the identities of the speakers.” Her voice was tired, as if she's said it a million times already.

“We need to be sure before we decide on a course of action, Laura.” Jubilation connected the flash drive to the old computer. “You can... leave, if you want to.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” She grabbed her brother's hand and squeezed it – whether to encourage him or steel herself, it wasn't clear.

Quentin went to stand behind Daken, and lay a hand on his shoulder to give him strength.

Daken leaned back a little, his head resting against Quentin's stomach. “When you're ready, Lee,” he said, voice tightly controlled.

Jubilation launched the video in question, mercifully making it so that Daken would be spared the worst of it and letting the recording begin only after the main fight between two clones had ended.

Elizabeth Garner was in an observation room, and had been filming the training of a group of clones from behind a protection glass. It wasn't the first time she did so, but the other fights she'd recorded hadn't been this brutal; obviously, with age the clones got more ruthless.

This was still seven-year-olds they were witnessing, though.

The kids stood, bloodied and heavy-breathed, eyes shining maniacally, their wounds gradually healing. Both Daken and Laura were very rigid in their chairs.

Then came the voices.

“And that's all?”

“With all due respect, they're still developing.”

“Still developing.” The first voice came closer to Garner, who didn't turn. She was writing up data about the clones' performances. The kids stood still, unmoving. “No claws, you said, and I allowed you to continue. But I was assured they could change their aspect at will. Why don't they?”

“It's probably their secondary mutation, sir. Most mutants don't develop their abilities until their teen years –”

“Their _teen years?_ That's too much time. The estimate you gave was different.”

“I work with what I'm given. Sir.” The second voice got closer as well. “They're already far more developed than mutants their age. I'd need to submit them to a second cycle of radiation poisoning to induce the secondary mutation –”

“Do it then.”

“I advise against it. It could lower their numbers considerably. Not all of them heal, we're still trying to -”

“You'll make others. I can't wait that many years. They must be ready by the beginning of the next term.”

“Even if that mutant wins?” There was a slight hesitation. “The odds do seem overwhelmingly in her favor.”

“You'd still get financed, if that's what you're worried about. But yes. Especially if that mutant wins. After all, I –”

The screen blackened. The X-Men had hypothesized that Garner might have stopped the recording because she suspected the man was about to say something that could make it possible to identify him, and she'd always been careful not to incriminate anyone when filming.

Daken sat rigidly, his hand tight around Laura's. Jubilation looked expectantly at him.

“I know them,” choked out Daken. Quentin rubbed soothingly at his shoulder.

Laura nodded. “I told you, Jubilee.”

“Yes, you did.” Jubilation kept her gaze on Daken. “Daken, who do you think they are?”

“I can't pinpoint –” Daken trailed off. “Play it again, Lee.”

So they watched it again. It didn't get easier with time – quite the contrary, in fact. It only made things worse, because it was a horrid reality they couldn't fix... it all had already happened. They couldn't do anything to stop it.

This time, sometime during the recording, Daken tensed and exhaled. When the screen went black again, Laura looked at him.

“You recognized them.”

“Just one.” Daken passed a hand over his face. “The second voice – I _know_ I know him, but I need to hear it again. The first voice, though –”

“Yes?” There was an alertness in Jubilation's voice.

“Now I get why you said we need to tread _carefully_ , Lee.” Daken shook his head. “It's not just some corrupted General; that man is none other than the President of the United States.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Was he willing to pay the price?


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken makes a decision. It's going to hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING!** This chapter contains a **non-consensual** sex scene.

28.

“And the only solution was to stand and fight,  
And my body was bruised and I was set alight;  
But you came over me like some holy rite.  
And although I was burning, you're the only light.”

Florence + the Machine – Only if for a night

 

 

Edmondson.

None other than _Edmondson_. The POTUS himself was behind the facility that had replaced the one Daken had exposed.

He wanted to kick himself for not realizing it sooner. But that was the beauty of the scheme – how could anyone even imagine that something like that was happening? It was simply too deep a level of corruption; no one could be willing to deal with such realization.

After all, he was witnessing such reluctance right now; but his attention was primarily focused on the fragment of video Lee was allowing him to watch, so he was only listening distractedly to the heated discussion that had started once the X-Men were called into the conference room and the news was relayed.

His gaze was fixed on the bloodied little clones, so he wasn't looking around. His senses were sharply tuned on the voice of the second man – of the second monster. It was turning into a slow torture – seeing the kids, knowing he couldn't do anything, knowing it was his fault they'd been born into that life to be used and abused.

Quentin was a warm, comforting presence behind him, but he was focused on his teammates at the moment.

“Are we _sure_ it's Edmondson?” This was Keller.

“ _... their secondary mutation, sir. Most mutants..._ ” the second man was saying. The little clone on the right was bleeding more profusely than the others.

“As sure as we can be,” replied Lee. “We have three different sources, saying the same thing.”

“ _I'd need to submit them to a second cycle of radiation poisoning..._ ” Was one of those kids the one Daken had killed?

“Three sources? You mean _them?”_

“... _we're still trying to_...” Seven. The little clones were _seven_ years old and Daken was going to kill this man once he recalled who the hell he was.

“Laura and Daken, yes. And Broo confirmed it.”

“ _The odds do seem overwhelmingly in her favor_...” It was true. Blaire had won. And then she'd lost her _life_.

What did they want to do with the clones?

Stop the video. Repeat. Don't focus on the kids. Focus on the voice.

Laura squeezed his hand. He knew she wasn't looking anymore. She had her answer already. She was sure of it. She couldn't bear to watch the video anymore.

He needed to confirm her theory.

 _Focus._ “ _With all due respect..._ ”

“He's completely out of it.”

“He's _concentrating_ , Julian.” This was Quentin.

“ _It's probably their secondary mutation..._ ” Dammit, Daken knew him. He knew that irritating, conceited tone.

“They're both completely out of it, Jubilation. We can't trust –”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

“ _I work with what I'm given_ -” and he sounded damn pleased with himself. Satisfied.

“I confirm their identification –” Broo's voice.

“I'm just saying they're both shocked by this fuckery and we can't take at face value –”

“ _Not all of them heal..._ ” a flash of uncertainty. Some irritation in the voice.

“I said I confirm it. What they said is true, at least according to my software –”

“Do you know how many people with the same voice exist?”

“ _Even if that mutant wins_?” Disdain, hate, Daken could almost picture him while uttering that word like a curse, bent on a table, experimenting on children on Daken's orders –

Daken blanched.

“I'm just saying we need to –”

“ _Colcord_.” Daken turned to look at Laura, his voice strangled. “That's Malcolm Colcord.”

The X-Men fell silent. Edmondson's voice echoed clearly in the crowded room and then the video stopped. Daken had eyes only for Laura, their meeting in Madripoor now at the forefront of his mind: he'd _given_ her to Colcord, a calculated move to see what would she do; of course she'd recognized the voice immediately.

Laura tilted her head, her hair falling in front of her face. “Yes.”

“Colcord.” Daken passed a hand over his eyes. The man had some history with Logan, and he was fixated on bringing about the death of the mutant race.

Daken hadn't cared about any of that at the time. He'd used the man – a great scientist – he'd given him _children_ to work on, human children, because he hadn't cared, he'd never cared –

 _You reap what you sow._ Now Colcord was experimenting on other children, mutant children, his child's _clones._

 _It's my fault_. Daken pressed his hand to his mouth. _All of this_ was his fault...

“It's my fault.” Laura spoke quietly, her hand still in Daken's. She hadn't raised her head yet.

“What? No.” Daken squeezed her hand. “Laura, it's –”

“You gave him to me.” Laura looked up, her green eyes haunted by guilt.

“Yes, but –”

“And I gave him to the authorities. The _authorities_ , Daken. Who then went on to use him!” She inhaled shakily. “They put him in charge, and if I hadn't – if I _had_ –”

“Laura.” Daken caught her hand between his. He sensed Lee approaching them, but she couldn't do anything. This was on him. “That's simply not what you _are_.”

He'd wondered, at the beginning. When he'd flung himself into her life and demanded attention for himself and his children. When he'd began relying on her. She never said anything about his parting gift to her – the location where he kept Colcord prisoner – and her reluctance had made him believe she'd hurt the man, or maybe even _killed_ him, and was ashamed of that. He'd never pressed for information.

Slowly, he'd come to realize that she hadn't. That she could have never done anything like what he'd imagined she'd do when he'd given her Colcord's location.

He'd forgotten about Colcord. He wasn't a menace. He was nothing, just a little human with ridiculous dreams.

A little human with ridiculous, dangerous dreams who now had real power, who now had Raze's clones in his hands.

Laura shook her head. “I should have –”

“You couldn't have known, Laura. It's all right –”

“ _Neither_ of you could.” Lee stood beside them. He looked up – she was staring at the both of them. She placed a hand over Laura's shoulder and moved the other, just slightly, towards him... hesitated... let it fall.

It moved him.

Lee squeezed Laura's shoulder as Quentin placed his hand between Daken's shoulderblades. “Neither of you could have known this would happen,” said the vampire, her voice hard. “And – they were going to do it anyway.” She spoke quietly, her gaze turning to Daken alone. “You know this. They would have found someone else.”

Daken looked away. Yes. He knew that. Even if Colcord had been dead, Edmondson would have found someone else for the job.

It chafed all the same. It chafed him raw, to know that it was someone from _his_ past that was hurting those kids. To know that he could have avoided that – God! Colcord had even _begged_ Daken to kill him! And he _hadn't_ , because he'd wanted to teach the man a lesson for going behind Daken's back –

Quentin rubbed his back soothingly, comforting him with his presence, his touch. He was there. He was there, behind him, and he _knew_ , and he loved him, and he wouldn't ever leave him. He was there, and it gave Daken strength.

Daken looked back at Lee. “We need to stop them.”

“Yes.” Lee turned to the assembled X-Men. “We need to stop them,” she repeated clearly. “We _will_ stop them. We'll find those children and we'll expose Edmondson and by the time we're done, he'll be sorely regretting what he did. What he did to those children – what he did to Alison. What he did to _all_ the mutants that died in D.C.”

Her teammates were nodding, expressing their agreement. There were grim faces, and resolute ones, and furious, too. It was like seeing embers suddenly turn into flames. There was fury, and a martiality of sorts. They were stunning to behold, these heroes who'd always held back but had finally awoken.

“That's inspiring.” A sardonic voice broke the spell. Keller. The man leaned against a wall and was shaking his head. “I think you're all forgetting we're acting on a _hunch_.”

“No hunch.” Lee squared her shoulders. “Now's not the time, Hellion –” There was a warning in her tone.

“No, Jubilation, apparently I'm the only one reasonable here.” Keller pushed himself off the wall. “There's no proof Edmondson is connected to D.C.! Hell, forget that, there's no proof he's connected to the clones except for what, a _match_ in a voice recognition program?”

“Laura and Daken –”

“I _get_ that!” Keller threw in hands in the air – literally. His gauntlets followed his arms' movement, but then jumped way higher. He let them hover there. “I do. Let's say they're right. Let's say it really _is_ him, and not someone with the same voice. But we're talking about the President of the United States. We can't just _march_ there because of a video where he doesn't even appear!” He looked at the other X-Men with pleading eyes. Kaplan and Colossus were nodding. “I'm as angry as any of you. I want whoever did that – _all_ of that – to pay. But we have no proof, Jubilation.” He turned to her. “We have no proof.”

He was right. They had to think clearly; throw themselves into such a thing without a safety net would do them no good. They had no proof, and they couldn't simply attack such a powerful figure without incurring in dire consequences. Other countries would take action. The Avengers would probably take action. When politics was involved, it all got so much more complicated.

Politics...

A shiver running down his spine, Daken focused on the discussion.

“I'm well aware.” Lee crossed her arms. “Of course I wasn't talking about kidnapping the President, Hellion.”

“You sure sounded like it.” Keller grimaced. “You all looked ready to just _go to him_ right now.”

Lee sighed heavily. “As much as I'd love to, I know we can't. Do try to give me some credit, Hellion. Have I given you any reason to doubt my leadership?” There was genuine interest in her voice, maybe even concern despite her stern tone. The man gazed at her long and hard, then shook his head.

“No, boss.”

“Okay.” That taken care of, Lee looked at the X-Men once more. “Any other doubts?”

Quentin squeezed Daken's shoulder. “We should notify Madripoor,” he said quietly from behind him.

God, yes. The most powerful leader in the world, the man who'd already expressed a worrying interest over Madripoor, a known mutantophobe, was probably behind his _mutant_ predecessor's death and might have an army of clones at his disposal. He was dangerous. And Daken's children were in Madripoor, out of his reach, where he couldn't protect them – but maybe they were out of Edmondson's reach, as well?

Daken tried to focus. Wasn't Madripoor the safest place to be, as it was well-protected by many shields?

Or was it dangerous, because its recent becoming a mutant haven put a giant bullseye on it?

If only his children had stayed home – if only they hadn't been so hell-bent on entangling themselves with mutant politics... then they would have been safe. And Daken wouldn't have had to face this. He wouldn't have had to face issues he'd never cared about, nor would he have had to entangle himself in _politics_ as he was doing.

But that wasn't true, either. If Edmondson was indeed the man behind the attack, behind the facility... then mutants all over the world were in danger. This would have been true even taking Madripoor out of the equation. Edmondson was a threat. _Every_ mutant was in danger – including Raze. _Every_ mutant sympathizer was in danger – including Maiko.

This was it, then. There was a... a strange sort of quiet descending upon him. This was it. It didn't feel quite like he'd thought it would – the realization didn't squeeze him like a vise, but enveloped him with the gentlest of touches.

Gentle like Quentin's touch.

Quentin, behind him. Quentin, holding him upright. Quentin, giving him strength and love and asking nothing in return – Quentin would hurt because of this. Oh, God, he would hurt...

“Daken?” A hand on his arm; not Quentin's. Startled, Daken came back to his surroundings. Lee was in front of him; all the X-Men he could see were looking at him.

“What?” Had he been so deeply lost in thought?

Lee's eye shone with concern. “I... asked you if you prefer for someone else to notify your children.”

“Oh.” He looked away. Quentin gently squeezed his shoulder. “I – perhaps it would be best. Yes. Thank you.”

With a nod, Lee turned away. Daken listened distractedly to the following discussion.

It was getting close. He'd only just told Quentin the truth, he'd only just confessed he knew he was going to die and witnessed the depth of the man's love, who was willing to share that burden with him. To wait with him, and live with him while they waited.

It was getting close, he knew it was, because _he would die because of politics_ and this was it. This was _it_ , he felt it in his old bones, and he wondered what form would it take, how would it happen.

Oh, it was so soon. It was too soon. He'd only just said words he'd never thought he could utter again. He'd only just heard them said back to him. He was happy.

He was falling apart, his family far from him, and he could never fix it. Or maybe he could. Was there time? Oh, he hoped there was.

Quentin embraced him lightly, likely sensing how upset Daken was. There was a lump in Daken's throat. He didn't know what to do. He placed a hand over Quentin's and pressed it to his chest. He desperately tried to stop thinking. It couldn't do to slip and lose control and affect them all with the pheromones, to make them all feel what he was feeling, to have them all ask what was wrong. It wouldn't do to have Quentin ask such a question, not while he still didn't know _how close_ was the end.

He could pretend. Just until it didn't reveal itself to him. There was no need to upset Quentin more than he already was. It wasn't lying – not quite. Quentin _knew_ now, and he supported him.

The X-Men were debating what to do, trying to determine if they should contact some authorities to incite investigations. But who could be trusted? They had no clear idea of the extent of the corruption. This was a conclusion they'd reached already: the people involved – _Edmondson_ – could very well have someone in every agency.

No, they were alone in this. They had to round up evidence on their own. And for that to happen...

 _Oh_.

For that to happen...

Of course. The path was clear, overwhelmingly so. The steps were obvious.

And he now knew where they would lead.

Pain, and heartbreak. He placed his free hand over Quentin's arm.

Was he willing to pay the price?

For his children? _Always_.

But was he willing to hurt Quentin?

“We need someone inside,” said Colossus, several minutes after Daken's epiphany. The X-Men went on to discuss who to give that dubious honor – who to put into the line of fire like that.

Donna was mentioned. She'd already said she would help, and she had the connections necessary. It was a good strategy; no one could deny that.

But it wasn't good enough. They needed someone _inside_ , in the very centre of power, and they had someone who could do that.

How quickly he'd rectified how he felt on the matter. Just yesterday, he'd expressed concern... and here he was, now, willing to let _anyone_ burn.

But still, he returned to Quentin. How would it affect _Quentin_ , Quentin whom he loved, Quentin whom he couldn't bear to hurt?

He caressed Quentin's arm. Such lies in his touch. Such a leech he was – feeding off Quentin's warmth, Quentin's love, Quentin's unwavering trust.

How could Daken do this? How could he even think about it?

The meeting was coming to an end, and still he sat, torn – should he speak? It was decided Lee would approach Donna, and ask her opinion on the matter.

Should he speak?

The X-Men were slowly leaving the conference room. Lee turned towards Daken, but her worried gaze went past him, to his side.

Laura. He'd been so detached from reality, so focused on himself, so trapped in his dilemma, that he'd forgotten. Laura hadn't said a word; she hadn't contributed in any way to the discussion. He turned: she sat, her arms crossed, and returned Lee's gaze serenely. If he hadn't known how upset she was, he'd had taken such a display at face value.

She averted her eyes from Lee to look briefly at him. There was a request to leave in her eyes.

Sighing, he stood up. He exchanged a glance with Lee, who nodded at him, and then he left the room, Quentin a comforting presence beside him. The man's hand swung beside his, and took it, and squeezed it reassuringly. And Daken couldn't bear it – he couldn't bear to lie to Quentin again. He couldn't bear to hide things from Quentin. He had to make up his mind, and he knew... he knew Quentin would stop him. He knew that if he told Quentin what was on his mind, Quentin wouldn't let him do it.

He stopped walking when they were an acceptable number of steps away from the conference room, enough to grant his sister privacy. Quentin turned, his features soft, his eyes alight with worry and love.

“Are you all right?” he asked, oh, so gently. Daken nodded.

“I'm... going to wait for Laura.”

Quentin smiled. “Of course.” He brought their hands up, to kiss Daken's knuckles. _Oh, God._ “See you later?”

Not trusting his voice, Daken nodded. He followed Quentin's steps with his gaze until Quentin disappeared down a corridor; when he was out of sight, Daken leant against the wall and let out a heavy sigh, passing a hand over his face. Through his eyelashes, he could see the tremor of his fingers.

He was afraid. And yet, he knew it was the only way. He knew that, tactically, it was the soundest choice.

It wasn't just about the clones' predicament anymore – the clones, whom he'd sworn Raze he would find. A promise he had to keep, given how much he had failed his child already.

No, it wasn't just that anymore.

Edmondson was a _threat_. He had to be dealt with. He had to be dealt with and made an example of. He had to be exposed and put to trial. His demise must be political. For that to happen, incontrovertible proof needed to be found. For _that_ to happen, and no one to suspect anything, there was only one way. And for that way to become a possibility, Daken had to act.

Act, and very likely set in motion the events leading to his own death: the timing was too convenient. It had to be this: what he'd spent so long avoiding, now so close he could feel it on his fingertips. All because of his children.

Always because of them. He'd sacrifice anything for them.

Even – God – even Quentin's peace of mind? He had no answers for himself. He only _feared_.

Feared he'd ruin everything. Feared Quentin wouldn't forgive him. Feared Quentin would take it hard... Quentin was so fragile a rock.

He sensed his sister and Lee coming out of the conference room and steeled himself, schooling his features into a mask. He watched the way Lee touched Laura's shoulder, so lightly; heard the soft quality of her voice.

He recalled how virulently she'd reacted when Raze had shown up, the day before, smelling of Laura's blood.

They weren't just friends.

It surprised him, how slow he'd been at picking up the clues. Oh, there was no doubt in his mind that Laura regarded Lee as a friend; but Lee didn't do the same. She coated her actions in the guise of friendship, but there was love in her eye.

Lee was doomed, as well, he recalled Iceman saying. He wondered whether the vampire held back because of that, just like he'd tried to do.

He wondered if it wasn't, maybe, the right choice.

The two women noticed him; Lee squeezed Laura's arm, and then let go. “I'll be in my office if you need me,” she said, quietly, to Laura alone; but Daken took note of that.

When the vampire was gone, he approached his sister. Laura regarded him with a calm demeanor, but something slipped from the façade: the way her eyes shone.

He was willing to allow her to pretend it was nothing, but she faced him, unflinching. She let him see.

He reached her. “How are you feeling, imouto?”

She grimaced. “Like I'm a young girl again, and I just escaped the facility, and nothing has ever changed.” There was bitterness in her voice. It was uncommon of her to mention the facility; seeing the clones had really done a number on her.

He nodded. “You shouldn't have watched those videos,” he softly chastised her.

“I had to.” She turned her back on him and stalked away.

“Where are you going?”

“The Danger Room.” She kept walking. “I wouldn't mind a sparring partner.”

He went after her. “I don't think I'd be much of a challenge.” It was only half a lie. He still felt an aching exhaustion from the previous night. “I'll walk you to it?”

She shrugged. They walked side by side in silence until his perceptive sister glanced up at him and saw something. “How are you?” she asked quietly.

He didn't know the answer. How was he? He'd felt peace, for a few hours. Now it had all come back tenfold. He was debating doing something which would change everything.

But at least he'd had those few hours.

“Better.” He felt he'd answered truthfully, but Laura heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Daken –”

“No, really. I'm better. I... spent some time with Quentin, and – it calmed me. I feel better.” He paused, a grimace forming on his lips. “I'm sorry for yesterday.”

She shook slightly her head. “It's not me you need to apologize to, Daken.”

“I know that. I'm... sorry you had to witness that. You tried to mend everything and I thank you for that.” She tilted her head, perhaps appreciating the intent, if not his words. “Have you...” He dreaded the answer, but he forced himself to continue, “Have you heard from them?”

“I spoke with Maiko this morning.”

“Oh.” It ached. His words to his daughter; her recklessness. The damage he'd done. “How... how...”

“She's upset.” There was a coldness in Laura's voice that he knew he well deserved. “I don't think she's asleep right now. I think she's working, to prove her _worth_ to you.”

“I never meant –”

“Then you shouldn't have said it.” Laura whipped on her heels towards him, her features hard. “I get why you said it. I _get_ you were upset. But you hurt her, Daken.”

“... I know.” He lowered his gaze. He couldn't face her; he knew she was right. He'd known as soon as he'd said those terrible words. But he'd kept saying them, until Maiko was bleeding in front of him, and even then he hadn't stopped. Because, for all the love he knew she bore for her sibling, she'd _used_ _nem_. “How – how about... how's Raze?”

She turned and resumed walking, keeping her silence for a while. He studied the kids roaming the corridors, the wide berth they gave the two of them. Her reluctance in answering worried him.

How could Raze be, truly? Ne'd murdered someone for the first time and was dealing with it alone. Mystique didn't count – despite nir disconcerting statements, her death had been an accident. But Creed's death – his _torture_ – had been drawn out. It had been a revenge fantasy come true, at the hands of someone who'd never expressed such viciousness before. That alone would have been enough to warrant Daken's worry; but it wasn't the only thing his child was facing, oh no: ne'd discovered just what sort of monster Daken was, at the worst possible time.

“I didn't speak with Raze,” said Laura eventually, “Ne was in nir room. Ne's... keeping to nir birth form.” A small hesitation; Daken waited. The change in attitude towards nir neutral aspect had to be connected to Creed's murder. As if ne felt safer now, free to show nemself. “Ne apparently talked a bit, yesterday.” Laura's voice was very quiet as she kept walking. “Ne's – shocked by your past use of pheromones, Daken.”

He nodded, not trusting his voice. It was to be expected. He knew that already.

Ne had every right to be upset.

“You need to explain to nem –”

“No.”

Laura looked at him. “Daken –”

“ _No._ I won't try to make excuses for the inexcusable, Laura. Ne doesn't deserve that. I'm surprised you're even considering it!”

She looked at him with infinite patience. “You know that what you did was wrong. And you also know that it wasn't entirely your fault –”

“I'm done talking about this.” He surpassed her. “Come on, we're almost there.” Staying with her had been a mistake. He'd wanted to comfort her, but she had her act together; and she was set on confronting him instead. He didn't want to delve into it, he already knew that he was in the wrong.

He'd always, _always_ been in the wrong, and deep down he'd probably always known, and he hadn't cared. Oh, no. Because he'd never cared, had he? Because he'd felt vindicated when he pushed at those who looked at him and instantly wanted him, like a piece of meat. After all, he hadn't used sex to manipulate those who _didn't_ have that reaction; he'd used other means. Sex pheromones wouldn't even work on them: on truly straight men, on lesbians... and on asexuals.

He almost laughed bitterly out loud. Oh, on _asexuals_ such pheromones certainly didn't work, if the amount of time it had taken him to tune them was to be any indication.

After all, how could he replicate something he didn't feel?

He was a disgusting hypocrite. No, he wouldn't even try to explain to Raze, because there was nothing to explain. Ne was right to hate him.

Laura grabbed his arm. He stopped in his tracks – they'd reached the Danger Room. “What about you knowing Creed would hurt Raze?” she said quietly, her words like claws tearing through his chest. “Can we talk about that?”

He shut his eyes. “What's to say? I knew. I failed to protect nem.”

“You never told me.”

“You think I don't hate myself, every day, for not realizing what it meant, for not taking preemptive measures?” His voice cracked. “You think I don't know? You think you can hate me more than I already do? Whatever you have to say, I've told myself a thousand times already.”

Her warm hands cupped his face then. He kept his eyes closed – he couldn't bear to see her expression. He couldn't bear to see her eyes.

“I've always known you hated yourself,” she said softly, “And I've always asked myself why you hated yourself so _much_. Why didn't you tell me? You didn't have to shoulder it alone. You're my brother.”

There was such love in her voice. He opened his eyes and there wasn't disgust in hers, no hate. Only a terrible sadness.

He averted his gaze.

“You were punishing yourself.” Laura spoke with firm certainty.

 _I was_.

She sighed. “You need to stop doing that, and work towards healing. Towards mending your relationship with your children. It isn't out of your reach, Daken. You can do it.”

He nodded, overwhelmed by her words. He didn't know if he could do that before the end. But he knew that he had to protect them, that he would always protect them; that he wouldn't fail Raze again, like he already had.

The path was clear. He only had to take the necessary steps.

And Quentin –

“I'll do whatever I can.” He took a step back, burdened by the weight of his decision; her hands fell from his face. “I'll do anything.” Her eyes flickered – she'd seen something, but she didn't know what.

She would try to stop him, too.

“You're planning something.”

“I'm just trying to work up the courage.” He grimaced a smile. “You're right. I need to get over myself. I can do it.”

She cocked her head, obviously torn. She angled her body away from the Danger Room entrance. “Do you want to talk? I can do a session later –”

“Sister, you've done so much already.” He shook his head. “Go. I know you need to fight. We'll talk another time.”

He saw the conflict in her eyes, her worry, but in the end her need for an outlet won. She turned to enter the Danger Room, but not before she made him promise to seek her out whenever he felt the need for it.

His false reassurance that he would do just so tasted bitter on his tongue as he retraced their steps. He still knew how to lie; he hadn't changed one bit. He was still the man Laura had met so many years ago: willing to do anything to achieve his goals, and any casualties be damned.

Just like he'd taught Maiko, and oh, how he regretted it; how he regretted the damage he'd done to his daughter.

But this time, he had a noble purpose. This time it wasn't for himself that he did this. No, it was for others. And there wouldn't be any casualty but him.

And Quentin. He'd suffer.

But this was the right thing to do. Surely – surely Quentin would understand... he was a hero, after all.

 _You keep telling yourself that, hypocrite_. He reached Lee's office; he didn't knock.

He opened the door. The vampire sat at her desk and glanced up at him, a furrow in her brows. She had company, but he'd expected it: Donna sat across from Lee and looked deeply lost in thought, and she only grimaced slightly as she saw him. The vampire had probably already asked her to spy for them.

It was good that Donna was already there. He had a feeling he'd have to convince her, too.

“Lee.” He closed the door behind him. “We need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

 

He found Quentin in the cafeteria.

The man was having a late dinner with his friends, and Daken lingered at the entrance for a while to observe him.

He seemed relaxed... happy; he was laughing at something Broo said. Beside the alien, Okonkwo looked at Quentin with affection, but there was a crease of worry on her forehead.

She was the one, probably. The one with no complications, the one that would sustain Quentin afterwards. Fierce and protective and oh so loving; Quentin was in good hands.

Daken went to collect his dinner. It was Okonkwo who noticed him first, and pointed him to Quentin, and the soft smile that graced Quentin's lips as his gaze fell on Daken nearly made Daken flee the room.

He could do this. He could face Quentin.

Lee had agreed to the strategy of not telling anyone beside the few who had a part in it, and with an uncharacteristic bitterness in her voice she'd remarked that Laura would never forgive her for that. Then she'd asked, quietly, whether Daken meant to tell Quentin.

Daken still didn't know what to do. He knew he should; he also knew Quentin would try to stop him. He knew that Quentin looked fine and happy right now, and he knew the news would disrupt that. He knew he couldn't postpone, but he desperately wanted to have as much peace as he could – to give Quentin that, as well.

He knew Quentin would hurt regardless of when and if Daken told him what would happen.

In truth, it boiled down to how much selfish he was.

Quentin waved for him to join them, so he went, harboring a smile that he felt was horribly fake. They would see. They would know.

Quentin grabbed his hand as soon as he sat down. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Daken held his breath as Quentin brought his hand up to softly kiss his knuckles. He felt the weight of Okonkwo's gaze and it only added to his guilt.

Quentin looked up, the gentlest smile on his lips. “I was wondering where'd you gone off to.”

Daken shrugged. “I went to speak with Lee. About – you know.” He lowered his eyes. “She notified Madripoor.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

“Ah.” Quentin caressed his hand. “How are they?”

“Unwell.” Unwilling to elaborate, Daken turned his attention to the meal.

“And Laura?” Quentin let go of him to allow him to eat, but rested his hand on the table, inches from Daken's plate. “I saw her. She looked – better than earlier.”

Daken hummed in agreement.

His arrival had sobered them. Even if they didn't know what had been set in motion, they saw he wasn't up to idly chatting, or maybe they abstained from it out of some sort of respect, because of the situation with the clones, or maybe because of what had transpired the day before. After all, Broo had witnessed Daken's outburst. Okonkwo had surely heard about it, and even if she hadn't, she'd stopped by Quentin's room that night, and must have gleaned something from Quentin's expression when she'd showed up.

Yet, looking up, he saw that Broo was positively beaming at him and Quentin. It was quite disconcerting to see such a wide grin on that toothy mouth.

Not wanting to know what had prompted it – he could imagine, though, and oh, how it hurt – Daken tried to attempt a conversation, but even the alien's answers nagged him with guilt. Upon being asked how had his evening gone, Broo said that Grey had finally woken up but still needed rest, and Daken knew that already. He hadn't spoken with her – he hadn't trusted himself to do it without tearing at her for leading Raze to the facility – but he'd watched her work.

She'd said, though bitterly, that Quentin would have probably done a better job than her at the moment. She needed _rest_ , after all.

But she'd complied with Lee's request, because she was just as hell bent as Daken on disposing of Edmondson.

She'd also expressed her unsolicited opinion that his children would have never agreed to what was being set in motion, had they known.

He'd gone out of the room to avoid telling her where could she shove her opinion.

Anxious to change the subject, Daken asked about Quentin's evening. It had been uneventful; he'd had a few meetings with some students he tutored, and then he'd joined Okonkwo. The woman's guarded expression led Daken to believe Quentin must have relieved himself of some of the anguish Daken had made him experience. He was truly glad for the woman's presence in Quentin's life.

As Daken finished his meal, Quentin's fingers hovered hesitantly beside his, and Daken turned his hand on the table to allow Quentin to clasp it. The contact was warm, and lovely, and it twisted Daken's guts.

But he managed to smile, and to caress Quentin's fingers. Quentin's gaze was so soft and tender – it was _firm_. Looking at him, Daken could still pretend nothing was happening. It was so horribly selfish of him, but that was the truth of the matter. He could lose himself in those warm hazel eyes and feel as if time stood still, and all was well. He could spend all eternity like this.

He couldn't. But the brief lie... oh, it was enough.

He knew it couldn't last; he knew he had to tell Quentin. But he couldn't bring himself to do it today. Today was... a day off, Quentin had called it. It was horrible that he twisted Quentin's earlier words to his advantage; he was rationalizing his decision, trying to find a reason not to feel bad about it. He hated himself for it.

But already he was coiling around it as if that had prompted the decision, and not the other way around.

Tomorrow. He'd tell him tomorrow. He doubted hell would break loose so soon. He had time.

 

* * *

 

 

They must have spent more time than was polite gazing at each other, because Broo and Okonkwo left soon, both of them saying they were tired and needed sleep. Broo's, at least, seemed to be only partly an excuse, as he'd likely overexerted himself over the course of the previous hectic two days. Before leaving, though, the alien studied the both of them for an uncomfortable amount of time, until Quentin murmured a tired, “Broo.” Looking nowhere near chastised, the alien cocked his head and bade them goodnight.

Okonkwo merely smiled tightly before following her friend.

As soon as they left, Quentin hid his face in the crook of Daken's neck and sighed. “I missed you.”

Daken tilted his head to give him some more space; the words hurt him more than Quentin could possibly know. “We only spent a few hours apart, anata.”

“I know.” Quentin encircled Daken's waist, his fingers grabbing at Daken's cardigan. “I...” He didn't finish that sentence; he didn't need to. Daken knew what he felt – the urgent need to make the most of the time left.

The fact that such time was much less than what Quentin imagined only made it worse. “I know.” He pressed his lips to Quentin's forehead. Quentin rubbed his face against Daken's hair as he pulled Daken closer to himself in a desperate embrace. They stayed like that – in silence – for what felt like aeons. It was comforting. Easier than talking. Daken didn't know what to say.

If Quentin were to look at him with his earnest eyes and perchance ask what he'd talked about with Lee, he'd confess right there and then.

But mercifully – or not – Quentin didn't. The cafeteria had already emptied of its few remaining occupants when he finally stirred and glanced up at Daken. “Do you want to spend the night with me?” His voice was so small, and tired.

“Always.” Daken kissed his forehead. Quentin's sigh was like a blade between his shoulderblades.

Quentin felt almost fragile, tucked against him as he was; everything felt fragile this night, their steps slow and measured, as if trying to hold a balance that the both of them knew wouldn't last.

He'd left in his room the pajama Quentin had lent him, so they went to retrieve it first. _His room_. He'd made it his, made this school his home – or part of his home, at least. He'd made his home with Quentin.

Picking up the pajama from the bed without breaking down required every ounce of strength he had.

By the time they reached Quentin's room, Daken was questioning his own sanity. Acting as if everything was known between them, as if everything had been laid bare, as if all difficulties had been faced and all that was left was wait together and take comfort in each other's presence – it was obscene. It was a breach of trust. It was wrong.

But he couldn't bring himself to disrupt this fragile equilibrium. He wanted – oh – peace. A day of peace. He wanted to give Quentin respite. To pretend, as they'd been doing all day, as _Quentin_ had been doing. Quentin had put on a mask for his sake, as if Daken couldn't be able to see it. He had to do the same for Quentin. He had to be strong - and yet so undeniably selfish, and wait, and lie.

They silently went through the domestic steps they'd fallen into, that dance of washing and getting ready and slipping into bed with no other purpose than that of laying in each other's arms and sleep. He felt at home in Quentin's arms, he felt welcome and safe in a way that still surprised him. There weren't expectations, just warmth and Quentin's comforting presence. He'd never gone to bed with someone just to rest. He never couldn't. Quentin had made it possible.

Quentin had _done_ it, as if it were the most common thing in the world. He'd pulled him into his arms and just let them stay like that. He'd given Daken so much, he'd given him what he'd never thought he could have, and Daken was repaying him with this terrible betrayal –

He clung to Quentin's shoulders, too scared to speak. Too damn selfish. Quentin lay so close to him, their limbs entwined under the covers, and he seemed to have forgone words as well. He was battling with his own demons over their terrible predicament, and perhaps he didn't trust himself to speak.

But he still thought this wasn't the end yet, while Daken knew the truth. Oh, perhaps not tonight, but soon. Very soon. In fact, he hoped it would be swift. Better that than wait and wait and lie... better for their plans, too. The sooner they took him, the sooner they'd find the clones –

His fingers dug rigidly into Quentin's flesh; Quentin's gaze was so firm and bright, there was such resolution on his features. He cupped Daken's cheek and drew closer and brushed feather-like kisses all over Daken's face. It was – oh – soft, and gentle, and felt so right. It made him crumble and melt; he exhaled a tremulous sigh he had no control over. It was pure bliss to feel the faint touch of Quentin's lips, to sense Quentin's warm breath ghost over his skin. It was – _God_ – too much. His heart was hammering so violently that Quentin could surely hear it. He wanted it to last forever – this lovely tenderness he'd always craved.

It was all going to vanish, like dust. It was going to be ruined, this moment outshadowed by pain.

Quentin reached Daken's forehead and slowly traced his hairline with his lips, only to suddenly stop, his free arm going to encircle Daken's waist until his hand rested lightly atop Daken's shoulder. It was that motion that finally made Daken realize that he was shaking. He was shaking, and Quentin held him, murmuring against his temple: “It's all right. It's going to be all right –”

It wasn't.

Daken tilted his head up, to stop the endless flow of painful words. He kissed Quentin, lips brushing just barely against the man's, softly, oh, so softly. He pulled Quentin closer, holding him tightly, holding on to him before the end. He wanted – he needed – the contact. He needed to feel him _there_ , so close and warm and safe. He wanted, selfishly, to fall asleep like this – engulfed by Quentin's presence.

It was selfish because he was hiding something terrible. It was selfish because he was lying and pretending everything could solve, pretending they were on the same page... when the truth was that they weren't, and Quentin was comforting him for something he couldn't even imagine, and suffering as well, suffering and needing comfort himself.

It was selfish because it was misleading, such intimacy usually a prelude to something else, something that Daken didn't want, and he should stop it now... stop it before it was too late. Stop it before it led Quentin on.

Before it hurt Daken.

But Quentin was responding more feverishly now, his own need clear and intense and terrible. There was a desperation to his kisses, a hunger. A violent sorrow, an anguished clutching of souls.

Accepting the reality of his own sacrifice – knowing Quentin needed comfort as well, needed _this_ ; knowing Quentin would think back on this night – Daken parted his lips to allow Quentin to deepen the kiss. Quentin's tongue slid into his mouth and searched his and stroked it, and it hurt.

God, oh, oh, it _hurt_.

Something had changed within him the previous night; something had broken and everything had leaked through, revealing decades-old lies he'd told himself in order to survive. This? This wasn't _necessary_. This wasn't _required_. He didn't _have_ to do this to gain that blessed contact. He could have it without submitting himself to the same old dance.

He would rather lay in Quentin's arms.

Quentin would gladly do that. Quentin would gladly accept that – he'd shown it already.

But Quentin needed this.

He needed to feel it could all resolve, a merciful lie that would shatter soon – a manipulation worthy of the man Daken was twenty years ago. It hurt.

It hurt, ah, that he was willing to pay such price.

He broke the kiss. Quentin groaned in protest, but tilted his head back, his breathing heavy, his cheeks red – his eyes glazed over, pupils wide with lust. “S-sorry,” he panted. His erection was pressed against Daken's hipbone. He tried to move away – mindful of the previous night, if the alarm in his gaze was anything to go by; but Daken kept him close.

Quentin needed this; Daken would comply.

It was as simple as that. He was leaving, and that would hurt Quentin; so he would give Quentin something to remember him by. His own comfort wasn't important.

It hurt.

“Don't be,” said Daken quietly. It hurt, it _hurt_. “Show me,” he exhaled, caressing Quentin's back.

“Show you...?”

“Make love with me.”

Quentin inhaled sharply and tightened his embrace; his eyes roamed Daken's face, searching for something he wouldn't find unless Daken so decided. Daken kept his innermost turmoil to his soul and only showed what Quentin had already seen – hating himself for the deception, but knowing it had to be done.

“Daken...” Such concern in Quentin's voice.

“Show me.” Daken drew closer and pressed his forehead to Quentin's. “I want to know what it feels like. Before –” He broke off.

Before the end.

It was only half a lie. It was half a truth:

He'd never made love. He'd been made love to, yes; by people he'd deceived, some of whom he'd later disposed of. Some of them, he'd even cared for. Never to this point. Never so much that he was willing to make love _with_ them. And he _was_ willing to make love with Quentin.

Quentin would cherish this night, perhaps. He would cherish doing this for Daken – showing him there was more than fucking. Showing him the difference.

Why a lie, then: he _didn't_ want to know. He'd never much cared for it. Sex was just sex, when one didn't desire it as others, and no amount of lovemaking could change that fact. Sex was just a pleasurable means to other ends.

He already knew what love felt like; he didn't need lovemaking to know it.

He'd rather lay in Quentin's arms right now.

Lay there, and hold him close to his heart, and listen to his heartbeat. Count the seconds to the end with his fingers buried in Quentin's hair.

Quentin pressed a kiss to the corner of Daken's mouth. “I love you.” His voice was so soft. So gentle. “I'll show you.”

A lump in his throat, Daken nodded.

There was such care in Quentin's every movement, such tenderness on his features. He held Daken, his hands restless on Daken's back, his lips pressed to Daken's face once more. He lavished Daken's eyelids, and his cheeks, and his jawline. And that was enough. God, that was enough. It had always been enough –

Quentin set his attention to Daken's throat. Daken held on, his fingers dug into Quentin's shoulders, the man's faint kisses burning his neck.

His face. He wanted Quentin to keep kissing his face. He tilted his head down, and Quentin somehow knew, and went back up, brushing gentle kisses against his cheekbones, his chin, his nose. Daken kissed back when he could, when the angle allowed it – Quentin's chin, his forehead, his jaw – and Quentin hummed softly, his hands slowly caressing Daken's back. Daken pressed his hands to Quentin's shoulders, holding him close, only wanting to hold him close...

Then Quentin gently pushed him on his back while caressing his sides; Quentin's cock nudged Daken's stomach as they shifted. A brutal reminder.

Quentin lifted himself on a forearm as he removed the covers with his telekinesis. His eyes were so soft and loving; the fingers of the other hand were gently teasing beneath the pajama. “Do you want to take this off?” he murmured.

 _No_. Daken nodded. Quentin undressed him slowly, easing the fabric over Daken's sensitive torso and then helping him remove it. When Daken was bare-chested in the room barely lit by the bedside lamp, Quentin's breath hitched. His gaze was fixed on the signs on Daken's skin – the marks he'd made the previous night, when Daken had begged him, almost ruining everything for the both of them in doing so.

Now, Quentin reverently run his fingers over the burns, eyes filled with worry. “Are you...”

“They're fine.” The contact made his nerves scream, but it was nothing. It was a good pain. “Don't worry-” He trailed off when Quentin bent to kiss his chest, lips hovering above the burns. Gently, gently, gently – the marks on his ribs, his stomach; the large signs on his sides.

It was sublime. Why couldn't it be like this? Why didn't people content themselves with this? Daken passed his fingers through Quentin's curls. Quentin revered every inch of his skin, his breath warm, and it was, oh, enough. Daken lost track of time, only focusing on the blessed contact. Quentin was taking his time, not wanting to rush it, and Daken, even if for a different reason, was glad of that. He kept caressing Quentin's hair, his other hand rested atop Quentin's shoulder as the man slid lower, and then lower still. Lower...

Maybe he made some sound. Quentin looked up with his soft hazel eyes and stilled. “You're crying.”

“I'm fine.” He blinked. He was fine.

He was. He didn't want this to end. He wanted _this_ to end. He wanted the time he could have had if only he hadn't been stubborn. He wanted the time to speak, about everything. He didn't want to hurt Quentin. He would hurt Quentin. Quentin was beautiful like this, so warm and careful and yet so blind; Daken wanted to give this to him. This was beautiful, and oh so _terrible_. He loved Quentin.

He was _fine_. He raked his fingers through Quentin's hair. “Aishiteru,” he whispered.

Quentin's breath hitched in his throat. “Aishiteru,” he said back. Japanese was so strange on his tongue, so gut-wrenchingly beautiful. He raised his head from Daken's stomach, a hand slowly tracing circles on Daken's side. “Love. Are you sure you're fine?”

“I'm not.” There it came, raw and painful: an admission and a confession. Better to let go of something, to mask it. “Make me forget, Quentin. Make me believe we have years and years to come.” His voice caught in his throat. Quentin closed his eyes for a moment, something trapped in his eyelashes; Daken dried it with a thumb. _Forgive me_ , he thought. _Oh, God_. “Make love to me.” _Hold me_. _Hold me. Just hold me._

Quentin bent his head again. His kisses turned feverish, urgent; his hand gripped at Daken's waist and Daken covered it with his and caressed his knuckles. Quentin was shaking – they were both shaking, a slight tremor that sent Daken's teeth on edge, the salt of his tears bitter on his tongue. He watched through a haze as Quentin reached the hem of his pants and went lower still, his breath warm through the fabric as he placed gentle kisses over Daken's hipbones. His fingers hooked the waistband and he looked up with reddened eyes. “Can I take this off?” His voice was rough – whether because of desire, or sorrow, or maybe both, Daken didn't know.

 _No. No. No._ He nodded, raising his hips to help Quentin slide the pants down his legs. Quentin bent down again, this time to kiss his thighs, his calves, his ankles as he undressed him. He covered even Daken's feet with kisses, gently brushing his lips over them from heel to toes.

It was too much.

He couldn't bear the soft loving look in Quentin's eyes. He couldn't bear to know this was the end. He hated himself, oh, with a burning fury. He wanted to take Quentin into his arms. He wanted to give him something for the pain he would cause. He needed to tell him, and he dreaded the outcome.

He needed to hold him, just to hold him, oh, just to be held, why couldn't they just –

He heard himself moan and hated himself for that, too. Quentin was kissing his thigh again, his nose nudging Daken's soft cock through the briefs. He looked up, a question in his eyes, and Daken, his throat dry with remorse and dread, nodded. Quentin went to mouth the outline of his cock through the fabric... gently, ever so gently.

Listening to himself as if he were a stranger – hearing the quiet whimpers come out of his mouth, feeling his hips cant forward – Daken desired for this to be over. But this was him. This had always been him, loud and desperate and lascivious, his body a means just like the others.

This had never – never – been him. At least before the end he could acknowledge it. At least he'd finally admitted it to himself.

One last time, then. Just for Quentin.

He waited, eyes squinted shut, his own moans in his ears, for the inevitable request for permission. It felt as if hours had passed already; Quentin was worshipping every inch of his body, every wrinkle, every flaw.

Eventually he stopped, and he raised himself again, his breath hot over Daken's face, fingers caressing the burns on Daken's waist and then stilling over Daken's briefs. Daken opened his eyes and found himself gazing up at Quentin's reddened cheeks and into eyes that could bore into his soul. “May I?” asked Quentin, achingly attentive still - and Daken, yet again, nodded.

When he was naked he found himself pinned by the love in Quentin's eyes. Quentin pressed his forehead to his as he gently caressed his side.

He loved Quentin. He loved him, oh, so much, it brought a tightness to his chest.

What was he doing? He was doing everything wrong. Oh, Quentin would hurt. He would hurt –

He was crying again. Quentin was kissing his eyelids, his cheeks, so gentle and patient and loving. Daken grabbed at his shoulder, dug his fingers into Quentin's flesh. _God. Oh, God..._

“Shhh.” Quentin pressed a kiss to his mouth, his lips wet from Daken's tears. “Hush, love. It's all right. I'm here, I'll always be here –”

“I'm _sorry_ ,” sobbed Daken, overwhelmed by guilt and love and pain.

“Shhh. Shhh.” Small, gentle, wet kisses, close-mouthed and soft, perfect. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you...” Small kisses on his throat, his chest. And then down, down, further down, like a death sentence. He only stopped to remove his own clothes and then, naked, he resumed his ministrations.

His body radiated warmth, his skin glistened with sweat already, he moved with a reverence that could only make Daken cry harder. He was beautiful. He was the most perfect creature in the whole world. He was so achingly attentive, so precious.

He would shatter in a thousand pieces.

He reached Daken's hip and pressed a thousand gentle kisses to it, always murmuring _I love you_ 's and that would have been enough; but then he cupped Daken's cock and his balls and massaged them slowly and Daken heard himself moan, and moan, and moan, and felt himself move forward to increase the friction, his hands tight around the sheets - a fist closing around his heart and squeezing, squeezing –

When Quentin eased his thighs apart he complied, listening to the sounds he made as the man's lips travelled further down, first to his perineum, then to his entrance. There Quentin brushed wet kisses that made him squirm and writhe and emit high-pitched moans bordering on hysteria. He was gripping the sheets so hard that he feared he might tear them asunder - tear them as he was tearing inside.

When Quentin plunged his tongue inside him, Daken lost it. The pleasure was overwhelming, the pain too much. He'd danced this dance before; he'd never done it with the knowledge of how much of himself he was giving away.

He was willing to, for Quentin. Maybe _that_ was the difference. But this – _this_ – this was too much, and too soon after the previous night, after his realization. He felt Quentin's hands on him, keeping him still, caressing him, holding him together; he gripped them, tightly lacing their fingers together.

Quentin's tongue thrust inside him slowly - he could feel it curl and caress him. The man's labored inhales brushed his perineum as Quentin nuzzled it expertly. The stink of Quentin's precome permeated the air, stinging Daken's nostrils. He could smell his own scent, sweat and arousal mixed together with Quentin's, sweet and decaying like rotten fruit or blood. His whimpers mixed with Quentin's muffled groans, his racing heartbeat with Quentin's. His body moved of its own accord, heels digging into the mattress to push his hips forward, to meet Quentin's tongue, to drive it further inside himself.

It was done now. Gone down that same old path, that violation. He gave himself to it, grateful that at least it was Quentin inside him... that it was Quentin that held his hands back, and not someone else.

He wouldn't have done it for anyone else. No more.

Aeons might have passed, long ages filled with the cacophony all around him. Then there was an absence, and cool air on his oversensitive flesh. Daken whimpered at the loss despite himself and looked down.

Quentin rested a reddened cheek to Daken's thigh, sweat-dampened curls pressed to his forehead, lips swollen and glistening with saliva, eyes so very dark but still so soft. He lay there, catching his breath. Daken let go of Quentin's hand to cup his other cheek and Quentin closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. With his now free hand he caressed Daken's waist. “Sorry,” he panted, eyes fluttering open, “Couldn't breathe anymore.” He tilted his head to kiss Daken's thigh. It sent jolts of pleasure up Daken's spine.

It was to be like this.

He brushed his fingers against Quentin's cheek, Quentin's warm breath tickling his entrance.

“Quentin,” he choked, his voice coming out rough. Quentin hummed, his hand travelling lower, past Daken's hip, to his thigh, which he slowly caressed, fingers teasing inches from Daken's entrance. Daken's hips gave a jerk, governed by a sudden frenzy. Mechanics. Instincts. The body acts as it's trained to. It _wanted_.

Daken wanted, ah, the pain to stop. He wanted _this_ to stop. This agony, this travesty, this violation that Quentin didn't see, couldn't see, wouldn't ever be allowed to see. Quentin would never – never – know. It would kill him. He would think he was forcing Daken, it would _kill_ him.

He wanted Quentin – God, he wanted Quentin pressed against him, Quentin's arms around him. Nothing more. He wanted to take comfort in his warmth. He just wanted that.

There was no way out.

Quentin squeezed his hand. “I don't want to hurt you,” he murmured, some strain clear in his voice. “I'm going to prepare you, okay?” He nuzzled Daken's thigh. “With lube.” He gazed up at Daken, eyes shining with concern. “Is that okay, love?”

He asked that as if he feared Daken might be wanting the pain, as if to discern if – beneath the tears and despite his words – Daken wanted to punish himself.

He knew him all too well.

Maybe he was. Maybe he _was_ punishing himself by doing this. Maybe it was what he justly deserved.

But it was no punishment, to be loved as tenderly as he was. Instead, it hurt because it was an aching betrayal, one he couldn't ever forgive himself for.

But it was to be like this.

He caressed Quentin's face, fingers trailing over his jaw, his cheek. Quentin was straining so much, trembling with love and worry and grief and desire. He was so much.

“It sounds perfect, Quentin,” said Daken softly. He squeezed Quentin's hand.

Quentin exhaled shakily as he went to a sitting position, his other hand leaving Daken's thigh to touch Daken's cheekbone. His fingertips were wet when he removed them, a mere second later.

Before he could say anything – before he could break Daken's resolve with a few soft words – Daken caught him by the wrist and brought Quentin's hand to his own mouth. He kissed the trembling digits, licking his own tears off them. Quentin stared at him as if transfixed, lips slightly parted, his heartbeat drumming in Daken's ears.

When he was done Daken pressed Quentin's fingers to his cheek and laced them with his own, gazing up at Quentin's precious features. He pulled gently at the other hand at the same time that Quentin lowered himself to bestow soft blessed kisses against Daken's closed mouth. They tasted bitter from the tears but there was something else - a sweetness, a sense of right.

This was right: their bodies flush together, their mouths latched to one another; his fingers tangled with Quentin's curls, Quentin's palm cradling his face. This was enough.

And there was that _thing_ he couldn't shut down now, a simmering heat in his lower belly.

But it was all right. This was Quentin. This was the way he'd decided to deal with what he'd done, his way to comfort Quentin before the end.

Quentin let go of the hand he'd been holding. Daken clutched at his shoulder then, pressing him closer to himself until they were chest to chest. Closer. Closer. Closer. He wanted him, oh, closer, closer, closer – and Quentin's cock was pressed between them, a pulsing reminder of the transaction, crude and unforgivable.

He rocked his hips to give Quentin more friction. Maybe he was crying again. He didn't know. Quentin seemed to be crying as well, but maybe the moisture was their sweat. Or their saliva.

Better think that.

He cradled the back of Quentin's neck, fingers of the other hand digging into Quentin's shoulder.

He heard sounds. His brain, used to them, recognized them with dread. Bottle of lube being opened. Liquid being squeezed out of it, likely with the aid of telekinesis. Lube pouring on the bed, frantic scrambling on the sheets – they'd have to be changed again – lube finally hitting skin. Lube being spread over fingers.

Finally, a lubed hand crept between their bodies, disrupting everything. Daken sobbed into Quentin's mouth.

Quentin tilted his head back, rested his forehead to Daken's, and he was crying as well. It hurt, to see him like this.

Everything hurt.

“All right?” murmured Quentin, fingers reaching Daken's entrance.

 _No_. Yes. There was a cacophony inside him, and he didn't – _couldn't_ – know the answer. Above him, Quentin waited, patient and oh so careful, tears-stricken features alight with such intensity that Daken burned from it. He was beautiful and it tore Daken apart.

And he was shaking.

Daken nodded, a lump in his throat, and pushed his hips up, giving Quentin permission. His hand tightened around a fistful of Quentin's hair. “Kiss me,” he begged, his voice so cracked he didn't recognize it. That was what he wanted. _That_ was what he wanted -

And Quentin did so, tilting his head to brush faint kisses all over Daken's face – _God, oh God,_ God – as he slowly worked a finger inside him. He was gentle as he prepared him; so frighteningly delicate and careful. Daken held on, focusing all his senses on Quentin's lips, on his warm weight.

Then Quentin shifted, balancing himself on his free arm, and raised his chest from Daken's, likely to have more space, to finger him more easily. The loss broke the wind out of Daken. He wanted – oh, he wanted –

He arched as he desperately tried to pull Quentin back against himself, pressing down on Quentin's shoulder. Closer, closer to himself, their contact the only thing that mattered, the only thing he wanted. “Please,” he cried. “Please, please, please –”

“Yes,” murmured Quentin, so achingly softly, his lips on Daken's eyelid, bending closer, their chests touching again – and then he slid a second finger inside Daken. He couldn't have known what Daken was really asking. The intrusion tore a startled moan out of Daken; but they were close now. He didn't care what was happening, as long as he could hold Quentin so blessedly close to himself.

He wondered, eerily detached, if it had always been like this. If he'd always pushed all such thoughts aside, if his body had instinctively known what to pursue to give him at least something to hold onto during the act. Not with everyone – no, his approach had always been precise and mechanical – but with enough people that he could see the pattern, now, if he really thought about it. Johnny, he recalled; a ghost from years past, so focused on trying to change him. He used to clutch at the golden boy, his face buried in that soft blond hair or in the back of Johnny's neck, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest to keep him close. The few times he'd asked the hard-eyed master in Kobe to fuck him, he'd begged to be held just as close; he didn't know the man so intimately, but the habits that emerge during a scene are hard to break, and the man had proved to be trustworthy. And others he'd been fond of over the years – liabilities – he'd fuck the same way. Even Kazuro, his very last partner before he stopped altogether.

Had it been relief that had accompanied his realizing he couldn't function anymore? He tried to dissect that moment. Relief? Perhaps. He recalled more strongly the regret – but the loss he'd lamented hadn't been what he'd thought at the time. No.

The intimacy. He'd lost the only intimacy he could possibly have: the one he got when he had sex.

A darker memory. He'd often found himself craving the same from Romulus, and that time he'd – _God_ – professed his love for the monster, falling right into his trap, he also distinctly remembered that he'd managed to pull Romulus to himself, to hold him close –

He couldn't be thinking such things, not now; and he couldn't soil Quentin with Romulus' presence.

He came back to himself, to Quentin's warmth and Quentin's weight and Quentin's scent, to his soft lips and his heartbeat and his breath, to the waves of desire washing off of him, to his fingers buried in Daken - slowly moving, slick with lube. To his own body, responding as bodies do, lost and trembling and aching, nerves bringing stimuli to his brain, synapses on overdrive, mouth open, noises coming out of him as an endless litany of apologies echoed in his mind.

This was wrong and this was right and it ached, it ached. It couldn't ever end.

Quentin's breath a broken staccato above him, like a rope about to break. Quentin's body, shaking against Daken's, mad with need but still controlling himself. His tears falling on Daken's face, where they mixed with Daken's own.

What a sorry, twisted goodbye he'd conjured. What a horrifying betrayal.

At least it would mean something. To Quentin. It would, right? At least –

Third finger in, slightly crooked, searching for his prostate. _No_.

Daken tugged at Quentin's hair. “D-don't do that.” Quentin stilled his fingers and tilted his head to watch him, worry in his eyes. His wet cheeks were reddened with desire. He _yearned_ , but he'd stopped.

“Are you -”

“I'm fine.” He caressed Quentin's shoulder, his voice breaking at the lie. At least he was already crying. “But don't – I'd come immediately.” He was too old to last for long. And if they had to do this... they should at least do it properly. “I want you inside me, Quentin. I –”

“Yes.” Quentin kissed him softly as he resumed preparing him. His fingers moved slowly inside Daken as he attempted to sit up, but Daken was holding him too tightly for that. He couldn't let go of Quentin. God, he couldn't. He needed – needed to feel him _there_ , close and warm and safe, their bodies flush together – “Daken,” murmured Quentin, bracing himself on his forearm, “I need space...”

“ _Don't leave me_.” The words came out of his mouth - he _choked_ on them as he buried his face in the crook of Quentin's neck. “Don't – don't -” His fingers tightened around Quentin's hair, with the other hand he kept pressing so much on Quentin's shoulder that he knew he would leave bruises, he had to stop, he was doing everything wrong, _everything_ wrong, Quentin would never forgive him, and he shouldn't, Daken himself would never forgive himself, what was he doing, oh God...

A gentle kiss to the side of his head. The lightest touch on his arm. “I'll never leave you. I swear.”

The promise tore a sob out of him. He was holding on to Quentin like a lifeline, limbs so tight around the man's body, aching, aching –

“Shhh. It's all right. I'm not leaving.” There was a crack in Quentin's voice, a bleeding wound. Quentin rubbed his face against Daken's hair, keeping close, blessedly close –

Something came between their bodies, something slick, as if being squeezed between them by some invisible hand. Lube. Quentin was using telekinesis to coat his length with it without letting go of Daken. He wasn't leaving him. He wasn't going to leave him.

That betrayal, after all, was Daken's own.

“Okay.” Quentin's voice shook. His fingers spread and twisted slowly inside Daken as new lube was pushed in. “I'm ready. Are you –”

 _God, let this end. Please. I can't take it anymore, I want this to stop. Please. Let him remember this. Let me... let me..._ “ _Yes_ ,” he panted against Quentin's throat.

He couldn't even raise his head, couldn't leave the relative safety of the crook of Quentin's neck. Couldn't bear looking Quentin in the eyes. He couldn't see his pain. He couldn't let go of Quentin.

Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't.

Quentin removed his fingers from him. He shifted slightly and then he was finally there, slowly sinking into Daken, his hand sliding to the small of Daken's back to hold him as he filled him, a low groan vibrating in his throat.

Then, when he was sheathed, he stilled. Not completely – he was shaking with restraint, or pain, or both – but he stilled. His breath and his heartbeat were a cacophony matching the one in Daken's mind and he had to _move_ before it became unbearable, before Daken slipped and broke and fell apart there in his arms.

Daken wrapped his legs around Quentin's waist, held him so tightly that even his heels would likely leave bruises. He would mark Quentin's body in an obscene mirroring of the hurt he would soon inflict, but he couldn't stop himself from taking what he could from this, and giving all he could in return, from taking comfort in Quentin's warmth, in the closeness of his body – from comforting Quentin _with_ his body, the thing Quentin feared Daken did without a second thought and any concern for himself , and oh, he didn't even know half of it. The only thing Daken could do, because he _knew_ how, it was safe, it was burnt into him, and it was easier than talking, easier than telling Quentin everything would fall apart...

He'd do that tomorrow. He'd tell Quentin tomorrow.

Tonight, Quentin was shaking with the weight of what Daken had already confessed, and he couldn't take anything more. He would break.

Tonight, Quentin needed this: he needed the warmth of another body and the crass release of sex and it didn't _matter_ that it was happening after he'd unwittingly made Daken realize the truth. It didn't matter, because he loved Quentin, and he couldn't bear to hurt him, not tonight.

Daken rolled his hips, breath hitching as he felt Quentin's cock slide deeper inside him. Quentin groaned and shook and jerked back and forward with an abrupt thrust and then he _stilled._ He pressed his lips to the side of Daken's head as he choked out: “Can I –” only to break off to pant.

He was waiting for verbal permission. Daken's chest hurt at the thought, his heart swelled and floated and ached, oh, so much, too much...

He pressed a kiss to Quentin's throat, felt Quentin's pulse throb against his lips. “Go on,” he murmured.

With a strangled sound, Quentin began to move. He rocked into Daken slowly, so achingly slowly, every motion delicate and careful and tender – their bodies close, so close they could almost be one.

They fit so perfectly, so effortlessly, a liquid jumble of limbs purposely placed, every inch pressed to another till discerning its origin would be impossible. It was so absolute and crystal clear and true, an union the likes of which he'd never experienced, everything heightened till it burned hot in his very soul. Even the pain – yes, even that, and the regret, and the anguish, all burning white in his soul, searing him - a scorching, blazing truth that marked him. It was like coming home, the only path the edge of a blade, like drowning, falling, falling, falling. It was a cruel lie, the cruelest lie of all, shining bright in its perfection, in its neverending glory. And beyond that, wings of flame and an echo of an echo of an echo of a promise, a cry, a howl, such fury, beautiful and terrible and strange and foreign and yet so close, so –

His orgasm took him suddenly, with an intensity that was eerily soft and quiet – he came untouched, the angle between them wrong for it. He didn't even spill. But it took him all the same, and he cried out, every muscle spasming.

Slowly, slowly, he became acutely aware of just how terribly tightly he was holding Quentin... of how equally tightly Quentin held him back as he ground deeper into him. His senses came back to him, that blazing moment gone and in its stead, everything he'd done and he was about to do. His face still hidden in the crook of Quentin's neck, the wetness that stung his eyes a mixture of their sweat and his own tears, he focused on snippets of brightness, just enough to hold on, just enough not to break in Quentin's arms.

The way Quentin's palm was pressed to the small of his back, to keep him close. The way he'd slid under Daken the arm he was balancing himself on, engulfing Daken in his embrace. The way his fingers dug deeply into Daken, claiming him. The way his lips were pressed to Daken's temple, his moans reverberating through Daken's skull. The achingly attentive way with which he moved, even as he was lost in his own pleasure.

But – no, no, he wasn't lost in it. He was maybe marginally aware of it, his body moving of its own accord as it struggled for release. But his mind was elsewhere. He was as focused on Daken as Daken had been on him – just as aching still. The dampness in Daken's hair wasn't due to the exertion, but to Quentin's own tears as he quietly wept through their union.

Maybe this had truly been a mistake. He'd thought – he'd thought it would help. He'd thought it would help Quentin.

But it was torturing him instead. Maybe he felt the lie in Daken – he sensed the urgency, and the surrender, and the sacrifice.

Maybe there was a lie in him too. Maybe his need had been a passing urge, a fleeting impulse he was despising himself for.

Maybe they could have just held each other.

Daken would have liked that.

He willed his rigid limbs to relax, to hold Quentin gently as the man chased his climax. Fingers carding soothingly through Quentin's curls, he raised his head, leaving his sanctuary to brush his lips against Quentin's wet features. The haze in Quentin's eyes made his chest ache, being no product of lust; rather, it was a thick veil of tears clouding them.

Ah, he'd ruined everything. How different this night could have been, maybe. How simpler. Gentler. No painful lovemaking, but a peaceful quietness.

There would have still been a lie, but at least only Daken would have hurt with its knowledge.

Now that they were facing each other again, Quentin began praying, an endless litany of sobbed promises mixed with whimpers of pleasure. “It's going to be all right,” he lied without knowing he was, and “We'll solve it,” and “I'll never leave you,” and “Everything's going to be all right -”

Daken murmured assents; what else could he do? What could he do, right now, without destroying it further? Tomorrow these new lies would add to the list of his faults, but he couldn't break Quentin tonight.

So he murmured sweet nothings in return, things that made his heart ache and his mind scream at their cruelty. He parted his lips when Quentin bent to kiss him with a searing desperation. And he did his best to end this agony, clenching his inner muscles with practiced skill until Quentin spent himself with a cry.

Afterwards, as Quentin caught his breath, tears trapped in his eyelashes, Daken held him. He held him closely, this precious creature he was loathe to hurt, and despised himself with such virulence his blood boiled. He held Quentin, his caresses light over the man's skin, and wept – for him, for his own children. For himself.

He held him close, gently, and wondered what could have been like, to have this forever – or for a little longer, at least.

Just a little longer.

 

* * *

 

 

In the days before the end, he thought often about that night and the following morning. About what could have been done. About what should have been said.

Such thoughts filled him with regret.

Such thoughts were the only thing keeping him sane.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Whatever _happens_? Hair rose on the back of Quentin's neck. “You're scaring me.”
> 
> .
> 
> A few words about my choice here. I know that most of you hoped Daken would tell Quentin everything, and would deal with what asexuality meant for him. I certainly would have preferred to write that.  
>  But I also knew that wouldn't happen. Not so soon; not after sixty years of pushing it all deep inside himself. There would be a lot to deconstruct before he even gets to saying it out loud. And a step in that deconstruction had to be this ugly thing you just read. I'm not saying – I can't say – that it couldn't have happened any other way: I'm writing this story, so I decide what happens; of course I could have done literally anything else. And I longed to, more than once. But it didn't feel right, like a cheap cop-out, an actual disrespect. Not just to the story, this isn't just about fiction. A disrespect to asexuals. A disrespect to myself. [I guess it doesn't completely come as a surprise that I'm asexual myself.] And I couldn't just write that everything magically and suddenly solved because Daken now knew what he was. It doesn't work that way, unfortunately.  
>  I guess what I'm trying to say is: I know this chapter hurts; I'm sorry it hurts. And it won't be any consolation, but I suffered right there with you.  
>  And while things aren't going to get easier any time soon, I promise there will be light after the storm. I hope you'll stick with me.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ultimate sacrifice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! It’s been a hectic period. More info about that can be found in the Notes at the end of the chapter.

29.

“And time goes quicker between the two of us...  
Oh, my love, don’t forsake me;  
Take what the water gave me:  
Lay me down, let the only sound be the overflow –  
Pockets full of stones.”

Florence + the Machine – _What the water gave me_

 

 

Quentin woke up to an absence and he opened his eyes only to shut them immediately afterwards, hurt by the strong sunlight coming from the window. They must have overslept.

He rolled to his back, then tried again. Sitting up, he glanced at the clock: he'd missed the first class of the day.

Yet somehow he couldn't bring himself to care, nor did he find himself bothered to contact anyone. And after all, if he'd been needed, someone would have come to wake him up.

No, the students didn't need him. Daken did.

The bathroom's door was closed, so he was probably inside. No noises came from it – Daken must be trying to keep quiet.

Daken's tears-stricken face from the night before came to his mind. Quentin ignored the shiver running down his spine at the thought of Daken being alone in a bathroom and keeping quiet, too quiet.

No, Daken wouldn't be hurting himself. He surely wouldn't.

Quentin wrapped his arms around himself.

The previous night had shaken him. He hadn't planned it nor expected it, but grief and desire had mingled in such a gut-wrenching way when Daken had clutched at him, and Daken's request – that Quentin would show him how it felt to make love, as if he didn't know, as if he'd never even realized that Quentin had always been making love to him – had knocked the wind out of Quentin. And then –

Their union had been frightening. There had been such intensity in Daken's every movement, such desperation. As if he starved for the contact. As if he wanted to assure himself of Quentin's presence, or had wanted to reassure Quentin that he was still there... that he wasn't gone yet.

They'd both succumbed to their pain, and it had scared Quentin.

He didn't want to be scared. He didn't want to taint everything with sorrow. He wanted to hope – he wanted to show Daken as well... show him that they could be together, and make the best of what they had. Show him that he didn't have to suffer alone. That there was hope.

That Quentin would always stand beside him.

He wanted to take Daken's hand, and be there for him, and fix this –

How? _How?_

“ _We'll solve it_ ,” he'd sobbed the night before, as if there truly was something that could be done. As if he hadn't spent years dwelling on what-should-have-beens and hurting from it, bemoaning Evan's stubbornness that had killed so many people – and yet here he was, acting just the same, lost in the past and in his own shock, wanting to change a future that was as good as set in stone.

But he couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Daken so soon! He couldn't bear to go through every day, fearing it would be the last.

They had so little time! How, _how_ was it fair?

He needed to do something.

And he'd thought he could just give up and pretend, one day at a time? What was wrong with him? Hadn't the previous day proved that he couldn't? They'd tried to hide in a perfect little bubble... that had been destroyed within moments. Their lovemaking had shown that: their abject desperation, their fear.

No, there was no way they could go on like this and keep their sanity. They had to do something; they had to try and fight for a way out.

The door to the bathroom opened slowly. Daken emerged fully clothed, a hand carefully poised on the knob, every step light. He was sure trying his damnedest not to make any sound.

Their gazes met, and Daken's breath hitched, fear and guilt plain on his features. Quentin felt a knot of panic in his stomach.

It might seem as if Daken simply hadn't wanted to wake Quentin up, but that reaction – that reaction froze the blood in Quentin's veins. He'd seen that expression before. He'd seen it when Daken had been confronted by Raze.

Before he had any time to react, Daken took a step in his direction, a plea in his eyes. “Quentin. I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn't want to?” The words came out harsher than intended. There was something – something crawling under his skin. That expression on Daken's face – it scared him.

Daken grimaced. “You looked so peaceful.” He took another step, a hand on the wall, his features torn and anguished. “I didn't want to -” he trailed off and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, his high ponytail shaking behind him. “I...”

His fingers were rigid, as if he were trying to dug them into the wall. Whatever was tormenting him, it chafed him raw.

He wanted to leave Quentin. God, it was obvious. He wanted to leave him, the stubborn idiot, because he'd come to the same realization as Quentin, and he was scared, and he didn't want Quentin to hurt –

He'd tried to leave already, two nights ago – that terrible, terrible night – and Quentin hadn't let him.

Now he'd do the same. He moved to stand, but Daken said, his voice breaking: “I love you.”

It twisted Quentin's guts, made the blood freeze in his veins. It pinned him right where he was. There was a world of pain in the words. Quentin desperately scrambled for a semblance of self-control, to present a strong front, to _show_ Daken that everything, _everything_ would be fine – but he failed miserably.

“I love you too,” he choked out, “Daken, what –”

“You know that, right?” Daken's features were torn in anguish. “Whatever happens –”

Whatever _happens_? Hair rose on the back of Quentin's neck. “You're scaring me.”

“I need you to know that I love you. I _do_. Tell me that you know that...”

“Daken!” Quentin stood up and reached him in a few steps. He caught Daken's hand. “Please, tell me –”

Daken clutched at his arm, eyes wide and pleading. “Tell me that you know that! I ruined everything, everything...” He squinted his eyes shut and leant against him. Quentin stood still, uncomprehending, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

“I know that.” His voice shook. Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around Daken's shaking shoulders. “Please tell me what's wrong.” What could lead Daken to say that he'd ruined everything?

He wasn't leaving Quentin. It was something worse...

“I –” Daken took a shuddering breath. “I need to tell you something.”

Oh, God. Daken _knew_. He knew what was coming, how would he die.

He'd said he didn't know, but he _knew_ , and he'd tried to shield Quentin from it, and now he was trying to work up the courage to tell Quentin... What was it? What horrifying illness would he succumb to? He had to be brought to Broo, Broo would surely help, would surely know what to do...

Quentin tightened his embrace. “Whatever it is,” he choked out, “We'll deal with it together. I promise.”

Daken shook his head as he dug his fingers into Quentin's arm. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. It only exacerbated the creeping panic Quentin was experiencing.

“Don't be, okay?” he whispered back, fighting the tears. Was it cancer? A stroke? “Just... tell me what's wrong. I'm here. I'll always –”

“S-stop.” Daken extricated himself from Quentin's embrace. He squeezed Quentin's arm and then let go of him, taking a few steps back.

He wasn't even looking at Quentin. Quentin's heart skipped a beat. “Daken. Please tell me.” He moved to approach Daken but the man wrapped his arms around himself, his gaze cast down.

“You should get dressed,” he muttered to the floor.

“Get...” Quentin stared at him, uncomprehending.

“... dressed. Put some clothes on. Please.” Daken leant against the wall, voice little and imploring.

God, Daken was clearly stalling and that scared Quentin even more. He stood still, aching to gather Daken into his arms, to tell him to stop worrying, to reassure him – Daken kept himself rigidly, his fingers dug deeply into his arms, his eyes lowered.

He was clearly stalling, and if indulging such a desperate attempt could give him a little spark of courage, Quentin would do it.

“Okay,” Quentin said softly, and Daken relaxed infinitesimally and exhaled as he leant his head against the wall.

He still wasn't looking at Quentin.

Quentin grabbed from a chair the clothes he'd worn during their date and entered the bathroom, closing its door after a quick debate with himself, wondering if Daken would still be there when he came out. The mirror didn’t give him any false reassurance, showing him his pale, worried face. He touched his reflection’s purple bruises, he recalled Daken’s face the night before, how tightly he’d held Quentin. He’d been a wreck already, and now he’d apparently worked up the courage to speak. Quentin washed and dressed slowly, hoping that would give Daken time to collect himself, praying that they had time - that whatever Daken would tell him wasn't as dire as Daken's behavior suggested.

That was wishful thinking, and he knew it.

His heart hammering in his ears, Quentin returned to the room.

Daken sat at the desk, his hands in his lap. He was staring ahead, and shook himself when Quentin closed the door behind him. He finally looked at Quentin, that same guilt on his features – but now there was a frightening resolution in his eyes.

Quentin steeled himself for the worst. He would face it – they’d face it together. He wasn't going to abandon Daken and he sure as hell wasn't going to let Daken push him away to _protect_ him.

Daken gestured wearily for him to sit down. Quentin sat on the edge of the bed and automatically gripped the sheets beside him. They looked at each other for what felt like aeons but surely wasn't more than a few seconds, during which Quentin was sure he'd forgot how to breathe.

Daken's hands were shaking and he folded them tightly in his lap. Quentin wanted to scream at him to get on with it, to pull Quentin out of this misery, out of this pit of _not knowing_ – the silence was worse, because it could only imply something so thoroughly horrifying that Daken couldn't find the words for it, and the dread was overwhelming, was making him shake, was torture.

Daken sighed heavily and finally spoke. “I... yesterday I went to speak with Lee.”

Quentin nearly whimpered in relief, but that made no sense. Was Daken stalling again?

“I _know_ that, you told me.” His voice was almost unrecognizable: a low rasp that fought its way past the lump in his throat. “Daken, please tell me what's happening.”

“I am.” Daken shut his eyes. He was holding his hands so tightly that Quentin feared he would hurt himself. “I'm telling you.”

“You're stalling -”

“Please let me talk!” Daken snapped his eyes open, something raw and bleeding behind those bright blue depths. He looked like he was falling apart. Quentin couldn't bear the sight, couldn't bear his own terror mounting like a wave... He gripped the sheets tighter.

Not trusting his voice, he nodded.

Daken took a deep breath. “We – Lee and I – agreed on a plan,” he said quietly, “to find Raze's clones and expose Edmondson, or whoever else is behind the facility.” He stopped and clutched at his hands, as if unsure – or unwilling, despite his vehemence – to continue.

Quentin didn't understand how that could be linked with the gut-wrenching expression Daken wore. Of course he cared about the plan, about the clones and Edmondson and how that posed a threat to the life of every mutant but most importantly of his own child, but it couldn't be the reason he now looked this tormented...

Something stirred at the back of Quentin's mind, the dread dialed up to eleven.

“We'd already agreed on a plan,” he choked out, “Donna Kiel –”

“- is to be the backup, or the scapegoat... if it comes to that.” Daken looked away. “That would have never worked. The mole – the mole is Williams.”

Quentin released the breath he'd been holding. For a split, horrid second he'd thought that Daken himself wanted to investigate, and he was too public a figure by now to just worm his way in, not to mention Colcord apparently knew him... so to investigate, he'd have had to put himself directly in harm’s way.

Relief flowing through his veins, it took Quentin a moment too long to fully grasp the implications.

Williams. A normal human, a young girl with no training whatsoever, was being sent to do a spy's work.

“You and Jubilation...” began Quentin, stunned, “simply decided to _change the plan_ without telling anyone else? She's just a kid!” Was that why Daken looked so guilty? Because they were sending the girl to slaughter, and he'd showed a strange protectiveness towards her two days before, wanting to shield her from the horrors her parents had committed?

Daken shook his head. “She's not a kid,” he muttered. “She's twenty-six. And she agreed.”

He could rationalize it all he wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that it was wrong. And judging by his expression, he knew that.

“She _agreed_ to be sent as a pig to slaughter?”

“She wants to help –”

“They’ll see right through her,” pressed Quentin. He couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to Daken and Jubilation – nor could he believe they’d gone behind the X-Men’s backs like that. He was unbelievingly glad that Daken’s torn features had such a simpler explanation, but he was also shocked by their plan. “Haven’t you seen how she reacted to the videos? She wears her heart on her sleeve. How can you think that she'll be able to act as a _mole_?” He shook his head. “Forget that, where do you even want to send her?” Kiel would have kept working in her agency and worked her way up from the inside, but Williams couldn't do such a thing. “This is insane, Daken. She can't do this!”

Daken grimaced. “She's going to.”

“She won't survive it, Daken.” Quentin stood up and raised a hand pleadingly. He knew why this was important to Daken – why finding a way to expose Edmondson was particularly important to him, despite his professed indifference towards politics. It was clear that he _believed_ Williams to have a better chance than Kiel at finding clues.

But putting the young girl on the front line like that... it was criminal.

True, she wasn't that young; she was far older than he'd been when he'd become an X-Man – when any of his friends had taken the mantle, throwing themselves into danger. But she was just a human. A human with no powers and no way to defend herself!

“ _Think_ ,” he added desperately, “Even if we keep an eye on her, we won't always be with her. She's bound to slip up and what will happen then? You won't forgive yourself –”

“She won't slip up,” said Daken, with ominous certainty.

“Daken, have you _seen_ her?” Quentin exploded then, “What her parents did shocked her and disgust her! How can you think she can just go and pretend like it's nothing?” How could Jubilation agree to this nonsense? “She _will_ slip up, and then...”

“She won't slip up.” Daken shut his eyes. He was shaking slightly. “She...” A slight hesitation; Daken sighed and seemed to be bracing himself, given how rigidly he was holding himself. “She agreed to have her mind rewritten. She won't slip up, because she won't be the same Jessica Williams that fought with her mother and came to us.”

Quentin stared at him, too horrified for words. That was their plan? That was what they'd agreed to do, Jubilation and Daken? He could – God, he could see Daken concoct such a plan. He knew that Daken was no saint; he knew that the man was willing to go to great lengths to protect his children. But how could Jubilation agree to it?

She must have seen no other way...

No, no. It was wrong. Plain wrong!

And Daken knew it as well. It showed in his body language that he knew how perverse and evil such a plan was. He wouldn't even look at Quentin!

“Daken.” Quentin tried to speak softly. He knew, oh God, he could guess how desperate Daken was right now. But this wasn't right. It wasn't the X-Men's way. “Daken, we can't do that.”

“It's the only way.” Daken's voice was weak, imploring. Maybe he was arguing with himself.

“I don't believe that, and neither do you.” He approached Daken slowly, fearful Daken would recoil from him, from his words. “We'll find another way. Kiel will do perfectly. She can protect herself...”

“Donna agreed.” Daken turned his head away, his eyes still tightly shut. “She doesn't like it, but she agrees.”

They'd told Kiel. They'd gone behind the X-Men's back, and told _Kiel._

Quentin reached Daken. “You're all insane,” he said lightly, fighting against the irritation and shock and pain. “Well, I won't do it, Daken. I refuse.” He attempted to catch Daken's arm, to infuse warmth and understanding in his touch. He understood; he really did. But it simply wasn't right.

Daken shrunk from him. “Grey did it already.”

For a long, stunned, horrified moment, Quentin prayed he hadn't head correctly.

He prayed that they hadn't gone behind _his_ back to do something so disgusting.

That was why Daken looked so guilty. He wasn’t torn over what he'd done to Jessica Williams – but over what he'd done to Quentin.

Because he knew that Quentin would have never agreed to a plan so vile.

And so he'd gone behind Quentin's back. He'd lied to him.

“Where is she?” It was almost a growl. He could hear a high-pitched screech raking his ears. “I'm putting her back to normal.” He couldn't find her with a mental scan, not with her wearing a TeBlo – oh, but they must have turned it off for Jean to butcher her... but no, now it was surely working again... Should he try all the same? He reached out, felt Jean yelp at the white scorching force of his fury. _I'll deal with you later_ , he spat at her. Jean keened; Broo asked her what was wrong. Meanwhile, her mind was pulling faintly at the Phoenix, but that couldn't overpower Quentin's rage. He severed the connection with a snarl.

No sign of Jessica Williams.

No sign of...

“ _Where is she?_ ” he grabbed Daken by the shoulder and shook him. He couldn't even be horrified at himself for manhandling Daken so.

He knew the answer. He felt it. He dreaded it.

Daken opened his eyes. He kept his gaze ahead as he murmured, with a tired, broken voice: “She left last night.”

And the circle came complete. The sheer magnitude of Daken's betrayal revealed itself in all its sordid reality.

A more detached part of Quentin told him that Daken had suffered in doing it. His tears hadn't been a pretense. They'd been very real.

And Quentin had misjudged them completely.

Quentin shuddered. “I see,” he choked out. “That's what it was last night, then.” He let go of Daken, nauseous at the contact... at what Daken had done. “Just a way to distract me.”

Daken hissed and finally deigned himself to look at Quentin, eyes wide. “No!” He raised a hand, but Quentin couldn't bear it – he stepped out of Daken's reach. Daken cried out. “Quentin, no –”

“That's what it looks like.” Quentin wrapped his arms around himself. His mind was a whirlwind of flashes: Daken sobbing he was _sorry_ , wrapping his limbs tightly around Quentin; Daken lying by omission, saying he'd 'spoken with Jubilation' and using the situation with his children to deflect any other question; Daken's face, wet with tears, mouth agape as he moaned his pleasure; Daken hiding his face in the crook of Quentin's neck – to avoid being seen? to avoid telling the truth?

And their lovemaking, corrupted by it being just a fucking _diversion_.

“Just a f-f-fuck to keep my mind occupied –” Quentin hiccupped; he hadn't realized he was crying.

“No, I -” Daken got up and tried to approach him but Quentin retreated again, till his legs hit the bed, and then turned away. He couldn't face Daken. “Quentin, please –”

But why was he surprised? He knew that Daken used his body to achieve his goals. He _knew_.

He also knew how it had come to pass. The horrors Daken had lived through.

His heart ached but he couldn't, _couldn't_ think past the fact that he'd thought it would be different. Daken was safe with him, and yet he'd resorted to such a trick. He'd turned the two of them into a mockery.

“Quentin, please listen to me.” Daken's voice was hoarse, a low shaking sound. It occurred to Quentin that he might be crying as well. “I wasn't trying to distract you –”

Quentin snorted, a humorless sound that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I _wasn't_.” Daken's voice cracked. “I realize it seems that way, but Quentin, I... I...” he broke off.

Of course he couldn't continue, because he was lying. Lying, lying, lying. Quentin shouldn't listen to a word that came out of his mouth.

He felt Daken's presence behind him. The man didn't try to touch him – Quentin wouldn't have let him, he would fight, he was shaking with rage and sadness and revulsion... at Daken for doing this to them, at _himself_ for feeling that way over something Daken was programmed to do, at Daken for not fighting it, for not finding another way, for lying in the first place, at himself for not seeing it, for the way he was coldly dismissing Daken's tears as he deceived him, what sort of monster was he, Daken had clearly been suffering...

… and yet he'd done it all the same!

Quentin seethed. He was always, always defending Daken, bending over backwards for him, so pliant, so fucking understanding –

“I wanted,” sobbed Daken, “to give you something. S-s-something t-t-to r-r-remember me...”

Quentin's blood froze in his veins. What did he mean by that? Something to _remember_ him?

So he really was leaving. He'd gotten what he wanted, and now he was leaving.

No. No, it wasn't like that. Quentin knew that. Any other person could have thought that it had _all_ been a deception, but Quentin knew that wasn't true. He knew that Daken loved him...

… and had used him all the same...

… He recalled, sharp and crystal clear, Daken's plea of the previous night, that broken, gut-wrenching ' _Don't leave me_ '. His tears –

Last night hadn't been a distraction. Non entirely, at least.

It had been a goodbye.

He wasn't just leaving; he was leaving Quentin.

He had his children to think about, and so little time to set things right between them. That was obvious, that had always been between them, and Quentin would have never tried to take the kids' place. Daken probably wanted to get back to Madripoor – attend to Raze, mend things with Maiko. And that was fine. But to speak like that – implying he wasn't ever coming back, as if they couldn't, with the technology at their disposal, teleport to each other in a matter of seconds...

How could he just leave, as if everything they'd lived through was nothing – as if the things they'd said to each other, the _promises_ they'd made each other, meant _nothing_?

 _He doesn't care._ And even if Quentin knew, as he thought it, that such a thing wasn't true, he couldn't help but let it echo in his brain. It filled his mouth with bile.

“I see,” he choked out then. “A parting gift, then. One last _fuck_ ,” he spat, “I hope it was good. Was it good? Did I fuck you well? Are you satisfied?” he vomited the words, tasting the venom in them, knowing they cut deep but he couldn't stop. He knew it hadn't been just a fuck to Daken. He knew that.

And that hurt Quentin even more. Daken had tainted something so delicate, so _important_ to him, with the deception. He'd done it with no care at all for himself, as he always did everything. It was exhausting. It was excruciating. One couldn't live like this.

The brutality with which he was tearing at Daken chafed Quentin raw, but he was allowed to lash out, dammit. He was allowed to feel used. To be angry.

“You have no idea.” Daken's voice was choked full with emotion, raw and low and broken at the edges. “No idea what I've _done_ last night. What I've -”

Quentin laughed, bitter and hysterical. He turned fully to face Daken; his stomach clenched at the sight, at the sheer naked emotion contorting Daken’s features. His face was wet with tears, red splotches marred his cheeks.

He had no right to look like this. No right.

“You mean there's _more?_ ” screeched Quentin. _“Other_ lies you covered with that display? Now I get why you were so desperate to get my cock in you.” Daken jerked and squinted his eyes shut as if Quentin had physically hurt him. Quentin's heart was hammering in his ears, but he couldn't stop now. “What, it _hurts_ you to hear me speak of it that way?” he snarled. “What you did hurt me. You used _us_ , what we have, dammit, the pain we were living with, and _twisted_ it to use it as a cover!”

“It wasn't –”

“Give me some fucking credit, I'm not _that_ stupid –”

“It wasn't a cover!” Daken opened his eyes. He was leaning against the chair and shaking slightly. “I wouldn't ever have done that to us, to _you,_ I _told_ you what it was –”

“Fuck, you don't even see it.” Quentin passed a hand through his hair. Exhaustion came over him; what could he expect? Of course Daken didn't see it. It was like a second nature to him. He was lying to himself. Maybe on a surface level he'd really thought that he was just saying goodbye. He didn't connect its convenient timing with the need to keep his and Jubilation's plan from Quentin.

He simply didn't.

That was even worse.

That filled Quentin with incredulity and sorrow. His anger deflated, leaving him with an aching weariness.

Daken didn't see it. He _couldn't_ ; and it tore at Quentin and made him feel ashamed of himself.

Daken wasn't looking at him, he'd lowered his head; he was still shaking, arms wrapped around himself. He was so pale that, for a moment, Quentin feared he might be reliving something else.

Then Daken said quietly, so quietly: “I'm sorry.” It was a broken murmur, that nonetheless carried the same desperation as the choked exclamation of the previous night.

It moved Quentin to action, everything else brushed aside by the look on Daken's face – his confusion, his contrition. They couldn't end it like this. If this was to be the last time they saw each other – if Daken was intent on leaving and focusing on his kids – it couldn't be on such a sour, bitter note. Quentin had to at least make him see. To make him understand. To put some seeds of doubt, of change.

He took a step, and then another, and another. Daken radiated a profound sense of shame, so deep and nauseating that he must surely be giving off pheromones. Quentin reached him and put a hand on his shoulder. Daken started slightly and kept his gaze lowered.

“Daken,” Quentin said softly. “It's not just me that you hurt. Can't you see that you harmed yourself –”

Daken laughed – a brief, desperate sound. He was clutching viciously at his upper arms. “I know that,” his voice cracked. “You made me see that. You made me _admit_ that. I _know_ what I've done to myself tonight. It's _you_ who have no idea what I've done.” There was a touch of hysteria in his voice. That, more than anything else, worried Quentin.

“What do you mean?” Daken shook his head, his eyes squinted shut once again, a grimace on his face. “Daken, tell me. You can tell me. I –” There was a sudden lump in Quentin's throat. “I won't stop being there for you just because you're leaving me. We can still be friends.” He detected the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn't control it. It couldn't end like this. God, he couldn't believe it. He wanted to be there for Daken. He'd promised he would. He'd promised – God, Daken could die any moment and he wanted to go off on his own again... “I'm sorry I attacked you like that,” he vomited the words, adrenaline and nausea rushing through his veins, “You didn't see it, you don't know better, we can solve it, we can solve everything, just talk to me –”

Daken jerked his head to look up at him at last, eyes wide and red and filled with tears. “Let go of me,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the second word. Quentin did so immediately.

“Daken -”

“I told you to _stop_ making excuses for me!” Daken took a step back; the chair he'd been leaning on dragged on the floor with a strident sound. “I told you –”

“Da–”

“You were angry! And you were _right_ to be!” He was attempting to deflect Quentin’s attention and it was obvious and Quentin wouldn't let him.

“It's not that simple. It's -”

“I _lied_ to you!” shouted Daken, “And you just stand there and take it and make excuses for me and I can't _stand_ it! I can't -”

“I don't _want_ to be angry!” Quentin cut him off, his voice raising as well. Daken broke off abruptly. They stood like this – staring at each other, heavy-breathed, the air between them almost cracking with energy and something else, a tension barely contained. A loose strand of Daken's hair had plastered to his tears-stricken cheeks. He looked wild, wounded and cornered and almost afraid. Quentin kept still. He had the distinct impression that if he moved – if he tried to approach Daken, to touch him, to search for contact – Daken would flee, never to come back again. He felt as if they were at a crossroads. “Being angry is easy,” he said softly, “I want to understand. I want to be there. I want to help. Let me help. Tell me -”

“You can't.” Daken's voice was closed off, cold; his features were turning smooth, his face unreadable.

He was losing him. Quentin was losing him.

Daken was wrapping up in himself, not letting anything show, not letting Quentin see and reach out.

“I can,” he insisted. “I can. I'm here, remember? I'll always be here.” _Please_ , he begged. _Please don't do this. Let me help. Let me_.

Daken trained his stunning bright blue eyes on him, but it was almost as if he didn't see Quentin. They were almost empty. Quentin shuddered. “But I won't be,” said Daken. It was matter-of-fact, clinical. Just a statement.

It cut deeper than Daken's claws.

“Dammit, don't do this.” Quentin took a step forward, got into his space. Daken didn't move, didn't flee, didn't flinch. At least that would mean he acknowledged Quentin's presence.

But no; he stood, inscrutable, every muscle tense. It reminded Quentin of their meeting in Tokyo, that sorry, horrible night.

“Don't,” he repeated, he _pleaded_. “Please don't. I love you. I –”

“I told you that I love you too.” Even such words were delivered coldly, so horribly coldly. The contrast was stark and horrifying. “I told you not to forget it. _Don't forget it_.” There was a crack at the repetition, in his voice, in his mask; it scared Quentin and filled him with hope.

“Then don't do this.” He hesitantly raised a hand, dared to press his fingertips to Daken's cheek. Daken exhaled, his eyes shutting briefly, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Quentin lowered his head, rested his forehead to Daken's. “Don't leave me. We can -”

“I'm not leaving you.” The whispered interruption elated Quentin. There was hope. _There was hope_. Daken's eyes were so bright. “I could never, I _would_ never –” He shut his eyes again, tears streaking his cheeks, wetting Quentin's fingers.

Quentin's heart was hammering in his ears, his breath catching and starting and catching again; he was too tense to do anything else that hang onto this moment, this torture, this strand of hope with all his might. He cupped Daken's cheek, cradled his face, and Daken leant into his touch with a sigh. Quentin didn't dare say anything, fearing he'd break the fragile moment. He waited. He waited, and waited, and waited...

Daken opened his eyes. “It's not up to me.”

Quentin didn't understand. Couldn't understand. He searched Daken's face as if he could discern the man's meaning in his beloved features, in the delicate wrinkles that graced the corners of his eyes, of his mouth. This was all about his death, again. It couldn't be anything else. Why had Quentin been so blind?

“Of course it is,” he said softly. “It's up to us. It's going to be all right, Daken. We'll solve it, I'll do everything I can, we'll _solve_ it. I won't let you die, I –” He broke off, his breath caught in his throat. There had been a flash of something in Daken's eyes, too striking to miss:

Guilt. Abject guilt, hitting Quentin like a punch in the gut, like a knife twisting his insides.

What was it that made him look like this? What was it that had prompted his confession in the first place, that had made him say he'd ruined everything, if by that he _hadn't_ meant what they'd fought about just now?

He stood, chest aching painfully, as Daken whispered: “I wish you stopped promising that.”

“Daken.” The plea, the question, came weakly out of Quentin's mouth. He couldn't understand what was happening.

Daken covered Quentin's hand with his and pressed it to his cheek. “I wanted to spend with you the time I have left,” he murmured, a world of pain in his gaze.

“We still can.” There was something, something Quentin was missing, something at the back of his mind. “We can have that, and more. We...”

“Quentin.” Daken entwined his fingers with Quentin's. “We can't. I'll be gone soon.” He shut his eyes, spoke clearly against Quentin's coming objections. “I don't know when. But it's going to happen. I... I hope it's going to happen. We're counting on it –”

“We?” exhaled Quentin. _Counting on it?_ Something, something, something at the back of his mind... “What do you mean, you _hope_ it's going to happen?”

“Not like that. I don't _want_ to be parted from you,” said Daken firmly. He opened his eyes; a veil of tears clouded them. Quentin's incomprehension turned into paralyzing fear. “But I have to. It's the part I have to play. I'm sorry it takes time away from us –”

“The part you have to play?” Oh, God, no. No, no, no.

Where were they sending Jessica Williams?

How did they even think she could gain access to anything?

What was Williams meant to give, in order for her to access the information they needed –

The realization tore a horrified gasp out of Quentin. He grasped Daken's arm with his free hand, a cacophony of sounds in his ears. “What have you done?” he panted – hoping, _praying_ it wasn't what he was thinking. They couldn't be this foolish, this _mad_ –

Daken pressed his forehead to Quentin's, their noses brushing. He spoke in a murmur. “We gave Williams a way to get inside. She was an activist for mutant rights, we had to bypass that somehow. They would've never trusted her. Grey rewrote her memories of her motives for the activism and I –” He shut his eyes.

There was an echo of _no, no, no_ in Quentin's mind. He cursed Edmondson, Colcord, Jubilation and Jean; he cursed _Raze,_ the only one for which Daken could possibly ever consider putting himself on the front line. He clutched at Daken's arm – unable to speak, only barely managing to listen numbly – as Daken finally confirmed his worst fears:

“I'm her way in,” he muttered. “They already know she went to her mother's house and then left, and they probably know she came here. She and Donna will approach Donna's superiors. We know that some, maybe all of them, are involved. She'll show her mother's flash drive. She'll say she wants in on the project. She'll say she wants mutants dead and that's why she'd infiltrated the mutant rights movement. She'll say her mother was insane but she's not and she's ready to work.” He took a breath as if to steady himself. “And when they ask why did she and Donna come _here_ , they'll say Williams was infuriated by the photos on that flash drive. Her father's photos. They'll say she dragged Donna here to confront me, and Donna allowed that because she has a beef with me. They'll say she tried to shoot me with Donna's gun but we managed to contain them both and held them for almost two days. That Donna talked sense into Lee, promising she'd escort Williams to the nearest police station.” There were a lot of _if_ s this plan relied on. Too many _if_ s. It relied on the men behind the clones being fairly stupid. How couldn't they see it?

It was clear that they thought it would work. Daken's voice was monotone, his words darts that made Quentin bleed, a cold certainty behind them. Daken was sure – he probably hoped with every fiber of his being – that the plan would work. And he'd convinced Jubilation of it. And he'd convinced Kiel, and _Williams._ Williams had agreed to put herself on the front line for this mad, dangerous plan that they couldn't even be sure would work. _Daken_ was putting himself on the front line, wasn't he? He still hadn't said it, but it was obvious; it was clear from the apology in his eyes, from his guilt.

“ _How_ are you her way in?” choked out Quentin, the syllables bitter on his tongue.

Daken shut his eyes; inhaled quietly; reopened them. “We staged a... a conversation. The one before Williams allegedly tried to shoot me. Williams has a recording of it -”

“A recording of you saying _what_?” Quentin interrupted him, dreading the answer. He was peripherally aware that he was digging his fingers painfully hard into Daken's arm, but Daken wasn't making a sound of protest, wasn't even showing that he felt that. Did he feel it? Was he bearing it, for Quentin's sake? As if punishing himself -

“Admitting to the torture and murder of her father.” It was as if the words were dredged out of Daken. He stood – they both stood there, unmoving. The silence stretched and Daken tilted back his head, searching Quentin's face. Was he expecting Quentin to shout? To scream?

Quentin couldn't. He felt numb. He saw the ramifications, what Daken hoped to accomplish, and it struck him right there, on the spot. It was insane. It was deranged. It could –

“Quentin?” Daken cupped his face. His thumb brushed gently against Quentin's cheek. “Anata, talk to me.” The endearment felt like a mockery, a virulent joke that shook Quentin out of his torpor.

“You think they'll arrest you.” No, scratch that, Daken was _hoping_ they'd arrest him.

“Oh, they will.” Daken grimaced, his thumb tracing patterns on Quentin's cheek. “It will look good for Edmondson; a mutant slaughtering a human. A cold case that cost his predecessor his credibility. He'd love it even if he weren't involved with the clones –”

“But it's not a cold case.” Quentin took a step back, letting his hand fall from Daken's face. Daken's hand still stroked gently his cheek. “And you've got immunity...”

“No, I don't.” Daken's eyes were very gentle and full of pity, as if he were explaining something obvious to a child.

“Yes you _do_ ,” snarled Quentin. “I remember that trick Maiko pulled when you came here.” Daken winced slightly at the mention of his daughter, but he was already shaking his head.

“ _Madripoor_ has immunity _for the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier incident_. I have nothing to protect me, save the fact I made very sure that Williams' death couldn't be linked back to me.” Daken sighed. “And even if everyone involved suspected me, they couldn't do anything about it without also betraying Raze's kidnapping.” Another wince at his other child's name. “But now – with my confession – they'll have incontrovertible proof...” he broke off as Quentin moved back abruptly; his hand fell from Quentin's cheek.

There was a cacophony of white noise in Quentin's ears. “So they arrest you. Okay. Then _what_? They're so grateful to Jessica Williams that they bring her in? That could _not_ happen. They could thank her and end it there! They could kill her because her mother stole a clone! They could think it's all a trick, dammit!” He was raising his voice again. Daken grabbed him by an arm and hissed:

“Quiet!” The attitude was so different from earlier that it stunned Quentin into silence. He stared at Daken, wondering how could he stand there with that anguished expression and then explode as he just had, like Quentin’s very legitimate doubts were just a nuisance.

Daken must have seen the incredulity in his eyes, because he let go of Quentin.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “But you can't shout like that. Someone could hear you, and we don't want that...”

“We?” Quentin clenched his jaw. _We._ Daken and Jubilation, obviously. Completely at ease with each other in their foolish conspiracy, it seemed.

“That's actually an answer to your question.” Daken grimaced. “Of course they could think it's a trick, but if the majority of the X-Men reacts as if they didn't know anything, they're more liable to overlook it.”

“But Jessica's involvement is still wishful thinking on your part.” How couldn't he see it? How could he be so blind, so sure of his stupid plan, not to see it?

“It won't be immediate, no.” Daken shut his eyes for the briefest moment. “But it'll show them she's resourceful. They'll be more willing to give her a chance. She _will_ worm her way in eventually – Grey... Grey gave her the resolution to achieve such a thing – and when she does... when, and only when, she sets her eyes on the clones in the flesh... then she'll remember everything, and contact the X-Men.”

He said it with such finality, as if that was the end of it – the end of the discussion. As if Quentin couldn't possibly have any more objections.

“Let's say it works,” he said, a hand raised pleadingly, “Let's say she really manages to get inside. Daken, this isn't the only way for her to do so. There are plenty of ways to make her useful to them, plenty of ways to make them trust her –”

“No, don't you see?” Daken had sort of a manic light in his eyes. It reminded Quentin –

God, it twisted his guts. It reminded him of Evan. So sure there was no way out, so damn sure his was the only way possible...

“No, I don't-”

“There _is_ the distinct chance that they'll see through the plot,” said Daken quickly, urgently. “It _has_ to be something they desperately want, something they'd overlook everything else for.” Daken clasped his hand. “Quentin, they're on a strict timetable. They said so themselves, Edmondson wanted the clones ready for this term. Some clones are _defective._ And I have...”

 _Oh, God, no_. It was worse, a million times worse than what Quentin had thought.

“... a healing factor?” It came out as a shriek from Quentin's mouth. He squeezed Daken's hands hard. They were cold and sweaty and shaking. Daken was shaking, but he looked as if he didn't care at all... as if he didn't care for his own comfort, for the fear now showing in his eyes.

He had a healing factor that Colcord would want to study, in order to enhance the clones.

“Yes.” Daken nodded. “A healing factor.” His pallor made the wrinkles even clearer on his face. _But your healing factor is just as defective_. Quentin fought to speak clearly.

“So your plan is to become Colcord's lab rat?” he choked out, failing miserably to control his voice. Daken just stood there, stood and looked at him with his bright blue eyes, his eyes that were the eyes of someone that couldn't be convinced he was in the wrong, that he was making a mistake, that he was destroying everything. “It could kill you,” panted Quentin. “He'll kill you!”

But of course Daken already knew that.

“I knew it was coming,” he said, with that horrible, horrifying finality in his voice.

“But that's exactly -” Quentin wheezed, fought for air. He clutched at Daken's hands, willing him to see, to _understand._ Another loved one in front of him, another selfish fool, another one who didn't believe in them, in Quentin's trust and love and strength. Another one who created what he was so afraid of, a snake chasing its tail... “You're bringing it upon yourself. You _know_ you're going to die, so you put yourself in danger like this, you form this absurd, dangerous plan, when there's bound to be another way, there's bound to –”

“It's already set in motion, Quentin,” Daken cut him off. Didn't he realize -

Or – and that thought made the blood drain from Quentin's face – did he?

“You're _making it happen_ ,” he panted, “Daken, I'm sure there's another way. Let me help. Please, I can't let you die, we'll find -”

“But I _am_ going to die -”

“Are you _suicidal_?” he screeched. Daken flinched. Whether it was at the tone, at the words, at the flames suddenly appearing – Quentin didn't know. He only knew he'd been blind. God, how had he been so blind? How hadn't he realized? How had he never seen that Daken felt that way?

But he could fix it. He could help Daken –

“No,” breathed Daken. He raised a hand hesitantly, cupped Quentin's face despite the flames. Quentin shut them off and Daken closed his eyes for a moment, almost as if in relief. “Not anymore,” he murmured, his fingers light on Quentin's skin, “Not for a long time. Quentin, I don't _want_ to die. Not so soon.” He blinked; tears had gathered at the corners of his eyes. “Not now that I found you.”

“I wish I could believe you.” Quentin tried to school his voice into something soft, and gentle, and reassuring. “But you stand here, engineering your own death, and I -” He grimaced. “I failed you. I should have seen -”

“Quentin, you've always seen everything clearly. You've always seen me. You saved me, remember? You saved a child who was too terrified to speak.” Hiro. Poor little Hiro, a ghost trapped in a nightmare. “You didn't fail me. You never failed me. You saw nothing, because there was nothing to be seen. I'm not suicidal -”

Denial. Of course.

Quentin shook his head. “Daken,” he said softly, “You set in motion a plan that might lead to your death. What do you call what you're doing?”

Daken didn't even blink. “Fatherhood.”

There was a world of pain, in that word. There was everything. There were all his regrets over his failings in regards to his children – whether they were really there, or he only perceived them to be. Maybe he even thought back on Akihira, and his choice to kill himself rather than hurting Daken. Maybe he was thinking of Logan, too, and what could have been between them.

He was trapped in his grief and his guilt and he wanted to sacrifice himself for the sake of his children.

“You think they'd want that?” pleaded Quentin. “You think Maiko and Raze would want that? They wouldn't.” If he couldn't make Daken see reason, maybe focusing on his children's reaction would work.

But Daken shook his head, something truly devastated in his gaze. “Raze would.”

God, he meant that. He truly believed that. It twisted Quentin's guts. “Daken, no –”

Daken held up his free hand to shut him up. “It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it does. Ne didn't mean what ne said,” Quentin grasped at Daken's hand. Daken just grimaced in that self-deprecating way that he had these days, and Quentin repeated, more forcefully, “Ne _didn't._ ” He summoned his cell phone from his nightstand. “If you don't believe me, you'll belie-”

“Don't pull them into this.” Daken clutched at Quentin's hand.

“It's you who's pulling them into this.” The phone hovered between them; Daken shook his head and lowered the other hand from Quentin's cheek, and he caught Quentin's free hand before Quentin raised it to grab the phone. “Daken...”

“You can't tell them.” Daken's grip was iron-like, his eyes pleading. “Lee will take care of it, _after_ -”

“Because you _know_ they wouldn't want this.” The realization filled Quentin with hope, in a way. “You know they'd stop you.” Daken's expression was all the confirmation Quentin needed. He softened his voice further. “Daken, you don't have to do this. You don't have to sacrifice yourself for -”

“You said you'd never come between me and my children.” The accusation startled Quentin into silence; the cell phone fell to the floor. Daken's voice was cold, his features closing off again. The words made no sense. He wasn't coming between Daken and his children; he was trying to ensure they still had a father!

In doing so, he was putting salt in a wound that was still bleeding, and he saw that. He was intruding into Daken's relationship with his children, but just as he'd done before – to make Daken see that the situation wasn't as dire as he thought, that everything could be solved... and certainly not by making himself killed!

“I'm not,” said Quentin firmly, hoping the harder tone would work where his soft words had failed. Daken wore a mask, but he didn't need it; he didn't need protection from Quentin. “I'm trying to make you see that they wouldn't _want_ this -”

“It doesn't _matter_!” Daken bared his teeth, the mask slipping when faced with the magnitude of what he was doing. That was the way to reach him, surely. “It's happening, Williams is gone, it _will_ happen. And if it saves them, then it's worth -”

“... their pain?” Quentin interrupted him, seeing the opening. _And my pain? Is it worth that?_ The bitter thought echoed in his mind, but that was a dead end. Daken had already shown what he'd choose if he had to. He didn't want to hurt Quentin, but he was doing so, because it was necessary.

But hurting his children? He surely didn't want that.

Daken was silent; Quentin pressed on. “Is it worth it, Daken? Is it worth it, when there's surely another way, when you can protect them by standing beside them and not from beyond the grave...”

“I'm going to _die_!” Daken found his tongue again. He squeezed Quentin's hands bruisingly hard. It still wasn't as hard as he was tearing at Quentin with the bleak words. “I've told you that, I've always known, and if I can have at least a say in it, if it's for them, then at least it won't be for nothing, at least -”

Quentin couldn't take it. Such horrifying, desperate, helpless words. The past, repeating itself before his very eyes.

“You can change it,” he choked out. Daken stopped, looked at him with such pity. Maybe he recalled now, he remembered what he was subjecting Quentin to. “You're bringing it upon yourself because you feel you have to, because you know it's going to happen, but it doesn't have to. We can change it. The future isn't set in stone, I refuse -”

“Quentin.” Tired, so tired. It almost didn't sound as Daken's voice. Daken shut his eyes, and weakened his hold on Quentin's hands. “Forgive me. I know this is killing you,” his voice broke. Quentin had no chance to speak, to chance to say anything. His throat was dry with dread and sorrow. “I wish I could relieve you, and reassure you, and fight beside you for our time. For us.” _Then do it_. Quentin felt his chest ache painfully. _God, do it. Why don't you do it? Evan did. Evan fought and_ – Quentin sobbed. _Evan fought alone. Not beside me. He killed everyone in the process. He gave up on us and killed everyone._ That wasn't what he wanted Daken to do, was it?

No. He wanted Daken to fight. To show Quentin that he cared, too. If they tried together, if they tried with all their might, maybe they'd succeed. They'd change everything.

But Daken, too, had given up already, hadn't he? There was no fight in him, no will to change his destiny. And Quentin couldn't bear it.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, Daken -”

“I can't.” Daken let go of his hands. He stood there, so pale, his eyes still shut; he lowered his head. “You don't understand, I -” He closed his hands into fists. “I can't. I couldn't bear it, I can't even try to change the future, because if I succeed -” He shook his head, tears streaking his cheeks. Quentin, his own eyes clouded as if from a veil, knew he was crying as well. “If I succeed, that would mean the future can be changed. That would mean I could have saved nem. I could have saved Raze.” He took a great, shaking breath. “I can't, I couldn't bear it, I... I _have_ to die.”

Quentin understood that. He really did. Finally, with blazing certainty, he could see the source of Daken's adamant resolve. Why he was giving up on everything.

Quentin understood.

And he hated that he understood, and that he stood there - so understanding, and bleeding from it.

He couldn't bear it anymore.

He couldn't -

God -

He was about to burst into flames, to snap and swallow the world whole. The Phoenix was flapping its wings of fire as if they were whips, its voice a loud shriek raking the insides of his skull. Its talons dug into his lungs and it snarled words Quentin couldn't comprehend. Fire, and promises unkept. He stared at Daken and saw him flinch, and knew it was taking over, and so he held onto himself, because he couldn't hold onto anyone else. He couldn't hold onto Daken anymore. Had that ever even been possible? Or had it been just an illusion?

Daken touched him and the contact burnt. Quentin shuddered and focused and still it was screeching, screeching -

“Quentin, breathe.” With the command came the knowledge that he wasn't, in fact, breathing. His lungs were a constriction and they were burning, he was burning, everything was burning but the snake in front of him, the dragon with its tail in its mouth, the liar who was letting go – “ _Breathe._ ” The word pushed past his nostrils, past his rigid muscles, and it shoved itself into his every pore, and it hurt. Daken was hurting him.

He was also making him breathe again, centering him as if nothing had happened, as if he could, as if he had a right to. Quentin shoved him away. Daken staggered but held in place, nothing but concern in his eyes. Oh, _now_ he was _concerned?_

Quentin bared his teeth. “I need air.”

“Yes.” Daken squeezed his arm gently. It made Quentin nauseous. “Let's get you out of -”

“Keep your hands off me,” spat Quentin, and Daken let go of him in haste, wide-eyed, and took a step back.

“Quentin -”

“Don't.” He needed air, he needed to breathe, to think. He couldn't face Daken right now. He was shaking, he was furious – with himself, with Daken – and he didn't want to lash out.

Daken moved to approach him again. “Are you –”

“I said _don't!_ ” snapped Quentin. Daken froze, his features contorting into something that mere hours ago would have made Quentin's stomach churn.

But right now he only wanted to put as much space between them as possible. He was going to combust. He wanted to scream.

He made towards the door. Daken started after him then stilled; he stood in the middle of the room, unmoving, his eyes cast down. He looked resigned. Had it been any other moment, Quentin would have closed the distance between them to gather him into his arms. Now the mere thought filled him with rage. He turned, seething, and reached the door.

He had a hand already around the knob when Daken's hoarse whisper stopped him in his tracks.

“You're leaving.” There was a sound that was unmistakable, but Quentin forced himself to keep his back to Daken. “That's... fine. You should. I'm not right for you. All I do is hurting you.”

Quentin almost swayed on his feet. “I'm not –” He shut his eyes. “I can't do this right now, Daken.” God, he ached to turn around and reach Daken in a few steps and stop him. Stop him from saying such things, from thinking such things.

But that was the problem. He felt – God, he felt as if he couldn't ever do anything else. He wanted to scream in the face of Daken's apathy, of his own never-ending empathy.

“I need time to think,” he choked out. Daken kept silent. “I need space. Please... please stay away from me for a while.” The only answer was a wave of grief so overwhelming that he actually staggered as he opened the door. The next moment it was gone, as if it had never been there.

There was just his own grief.

And Daken's tired murmur, following him in the corridor: “Please don't tell...”

With a sob Quentin took flight and fled, not wanting to hear the rest. Of course the plan was more important to Daken than anything else. Of fucking course. Of _course_ it was more important than Daken himself, more important than the two of them, more important than his children.

He flew blindly on, not caring where he was going, not caring what was in his path. Daken was going to destroy everything for this absurd, dangerous plan. He was throwing himself into danger, walking willingly into his own death, and there was nothing Quentin could do to stop him. He could only physically restrain Daken, and he couldn't ever do that.

Or could he?

If Daken was so set on inaction, so blind, so crazy, shouldn't Quentin get into his mind and make him see that –

No, that was a violation Quentin had sworn not to commit. What was he even thinking? How could he conjure such a twisted thing to do? What was wrong with him?

 _But it would save him_ , whispered something inside him, something black and rotten and desperate, something that had been awakened by their fight. _It_ will _save him_.

 _No. No!_ Quentin tore at himself. _What the fuck's wrong with_ –

He collided with something, came back to himself and his surroundings.

And he found himself face to face with Billy, who was floating mid-air just as him, a hand raised as if to stop him. As if he had actually, by magically means, stopped him.

“Where do you think you're going?” asked Billy, and Quentin stared, uncomprehending. He was too stunned to struggle against the magical binding, though they both knew that he could tear it to pieces if he put the full force of the Phoenix behind it. But Billy must be doing this for a reason, surely? Quentin looked around. They were in the hall, and there were a few students scattered about, looking at the two of them with a mixture of horror and fascination. Something was off.

“I'm minding my own business?” There was an underlying current of cracking power beneath his voice, an aggressiveness he hadn't meant to convey. “Billy, leave me be.”

“Minding your business, while on fire?” The pressure coming from Billy's hand increased.

“Look, I'm just upset, I'm not _doing_ any-”

“Quentin.” Billy clenched his jaw. “I get you're angry with him, but what do you expect to accomplish by –” The rest of what he said was swallowed by a screech of outrage. Quentin snapped against the binding but was held in place.

“You're _in_ on this?” he spat. Billy's brows knitted. “You agree with this nonsense?”

“Of course I don't think you're dangerous,” said Billy, really calmly, and that took Quentin aback. What did he mean by that? “Don't act like it, maybe? Not while we try to find a solution?” A solution to what? “I was actually coming to collect you. If you'd just tone it down a little-” And he looked behind Quentin. “Where's Daken?”

If he expected Daken to show up behind Quentin, it stood to reason that Daken couldn't be the _him_ he thought Quentin was angry with. So he didn't know what was happening.

And so did Quentin.

“Not coming.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. He tried to shake off the unpleasant sensation building in his chest and focused on Billy. “And I have no idea what you're talking about. What's happening?”

Billy grimaced. “Really, now -”

“No, really.” Quentin shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You said just now that you're upset, and you expect me to believe -” He thought that Quentin was feigning ignorance in order to free himself and go on his merry way to do something horrible. Terrific.

“Billy, I'm upset at Daken.” His voice came out eerily calm. “That's all. We fought. Can you please tell me what's happening?” _That's all_. Two little words, so dismissive, as if it was something of no importance, as if it wasn't tearing at Quentin, destroying his insides, killing him. His face must show it, because Billy, a furrow in his brow, lowered his hand, freeing Quentin from his spell. Quentin slowly lowered himself to the ground.

“Are you-”

“What's happening?” Quentin's feet touched the floor.

Billy made a tiny sound – a exasperated, defeated sigh – and lowered himself as well. “Come. We're in the conference room.” He waited for Quentin to reach him and then turned, walking beside him and eyeing him as if he still wasn't sure Quentin was telling the truth.

Quentin allowed a few seconds of silence before he decided he'd had enough. “I'm waiting.”

“It's that kid from the park.” Billy's lips formed a thin line. He looked like he expected that alone explained everything, so Quentin rummaged through his brain, forcing himself to think past his fight and Daken's face and Daken’s foolish plan, past this insanity. A kid from a park. _That_ kid from _the_ park, meaning familiarity, someone Quentin should know –

The kid who'd ruined their date. The kid Quentin had threatened. Quentin stopped in his tracks. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Billy urged him on. “He's camped outside since this morning. He's been broadcasting a long tirade on how dangerous you are.” Quentin stood still, horrified. Billy gave up attempting to make him walk. “Apparently yesterday he went to the police, to press charges against you, but they told him there was nothing to press charges about. The kid's got you on tape, everybody saw what happened, and the police told him nope, nothing happened. So he went somewhere else. And they told him it was out of their jurisdiction. So he went somewhere else again,” Billy grimaced, “and you can imagine what they told him. He went ballistic, says they're all too afraid to admit the truth, that you're out of control -”

“He's right,” croaked Quentin. Wasn't he? He recalled it all again: his rage at the kid; the flames; the screeches. He'd destroyed the kid's phone.

He'd wanted to destroy the kid as well.

“No, he isn't.” Billy clenched his jaw. “Don't go all self-destructive now. We've got your back, Jubilation's thinking of a way to -”

“I need to speak with her,” snarled Quentin. Jubilation should just sit the fuck down. This wasn't important, he wasn't important, he was a monster as the kid said. Jubilation ought to work on finding a way to protect Daken, not him.

“Yeah, that's why we're going -”

Quentin stalked off, leaving Billy to talk to himself. Jubilation was wasting her time, and time was a precious thing right now. If they moved now, maybe they’d manage to contain everything. If they moved now, maybe they’d find Williams before she did too much damage. They could regroup and reason together and find another way, a better way, a way that didn’t entail putting Williams and Daken in danger. Daken would comply with the new plan, he _had_ to comply with the new plan –

Daken would never comply. He wouldn’t, because he was set on this insanity.

Quentin moved quickly; the few students in the corridors jumped out of his way, their faces masks of wariness. He’d reached the conference room within moments and found Idie standing outside of it, listening on her phone. Her face was a mixture of worry and rage, a look she hadn’t worn in a while.

She grimaced when she caught sight of him. Damn him, he was making everyone worry with his foolish, out-of-control behavior. He’d monopolized their attention, when they should all be focusing on more important things.

He slowed down, in order not to make the charged entrance he’d set out to, and pushed the door open.

Many heads turned to look at him but he had eyes only for Jubilation, who was standing in front of the screen broadcasting what Quentin thought was the livestream from the kid from the park: there he was, talking fast and gesticulating wildly, and the building behind him sure looked like the school.

Quentin didn’t spare him any more attention than that, his gaze on his team leader. “We need to talk.”

Jubilation nodded. “That’s an understatement.” She motioned to the screen. “We underestimated –”

“No,” he snarled, “We need to _talk_.” He stressed the last word as he made a step into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shogo step up, looking every inch the part of the concerned son – Quentin supposed he looked very menacing right now, despite his best efforts. And he couldn’t help but wonder who among them was a traitor – who among them knew why he was acting so pissed off at Jubilation, when he was the one who’d made a mess here? Who, among them, knew what Daken and Jubilation and Jean and done? He glanced at his teammates, at Julian with his raised eyebrow, at Robert with thin tendrils of ice gathering at his feet, at Colossus who’d not so surreptitiously turned into his steel form.

They’d all converged to solve his mess and he was scaring them.

Quentin shut his flames down. Jubilation sighed. “Outside,” she said, and then she turned to the others and waved a hand at her son and said, “Keep going, I’ll be right back.”

 _Like hell you will_. Quentin stepped outside to let her exit the room. Idie had moved a little further down the corridor, and was still listening to her phone, mouth slightly open as if she wanted to speak but the other person wouldn’t let her. From the other side came Billy, his cape billowing behind him, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Quentin with Jubilation.

“Thanks, Billy,” she said, “I’ll take it from here.” She gave him no chance to answer, but turned to lead Quentin to a smaller room down the corridor. Her stance was set, martial; she expected problems from Quentin, but she didn’t care.

She closed the door behind them. “No one blames you for yesterday,” she said softly, “We’re trying to come up with a statement –”

“I couldn’t care less, Jubilation.”

She crossed her arms. “No, of course not.” She leaned against the door, far from casually. “He told you.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” It was all he could do not to scream the words. Jubilation didn’t even flinch.

“We’re at war, Quentin. Sacrifices must be made.” And how evenly she said such a thing!

“Sacrifice,” he spat, “At least you acknowledge that’s what you’re doing.”

“I’m doing what needs to be done. We’re _all_ doing –”

“Really convenient, using other people. Really _fucking_ convenient,” he snarled.

She raised a hand. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that _he_ was the one who came up with the plan?”

He hadn’t, but that didn’t surprise Quentin. “He’s not in his right mind, and you’re using it, Jubilation. Don’t you dare say you aren’t. Don’t you fucking _dare_.”

She hesitated. Then, “Quentin,” she said, “I’m not… I don’t know what you think of me –”

“We’re at war,” he echoed her earlier words. “I know that. But this isn’t the way to win. It’s too dangerous, you’re putting him… _them_ , you’re putting them in danger –”

“They have every right to decide to do that, Quentin.” Jubilation spoke softly. “This is war, and they want to help –”

He barked a laughter. “He doesn’t fucking care about the war. He’s not _helping_ , he’s making _you_ assist him in - in this fucking assisted suicide…”

Now she did react, but not as he expected. She all but snarled. “ _He doesn’t care_?” She pushed herself off the door. “He _does_ ,” she hissed furiously. “He has stakes in this just as much as you and me, and you dare diminish what he’s willing to put himself through?” Her eye shone with a fiery protectiveness that he hadn’t expected to see. He hadn’t expected her to actually care about Daken. He knew she’d come to respect Daken, and he’d been glad of that, but he hadn’t envisioned he would be standing here and listen to her scolding _him_ for belittling Daken.

Was that what he was doing? Taking away Daken’s choices, like… like Daken had accused him of doing to Evan, years ago?

But no; she didn’t have the full picture. She didn’t know what Daken was really doing.

“I’m not diminishing anything.” He clenched his jaw. “It’s a dangerous, stupid plan, and he would have never concocted it had he been in his right mind, and you ought to have seen how foolish it was. You have to see that this could lead to nothing but their death –” His voice cracked.

“What else can we do, Quentin?” Suddenly she looked so tired. Their fearsome leader, exhausted by her duty, by this never-ending war. “Tell me how can we safely gather information without sparking a war that we aren’t equipped to fight, without putting anyone at risk. Tell me.” She leaned against the wall.

“We’re already at war,” he reminded her. He felt equally tired. “That’s why you’re doing this. You don’t have to worry about sparking a war that’s already happening –”

“If we make a bolder move, we endanger more than just two people.” She closed her eye, didn’t see the snarl that came to his face. “It’s as simple as that. Someone is bound to get hurt and the fewer they are, the better it is. And if they volunteered –”

“ _They aren’t in their right mind_ ,” he repeated forcefully, “They’re both grieving. They jumped on this with no guarantee it would work. There is no guarantee this plan will work. No guarantee those monsters will look at Williams and say ‘sure, kid, come along and play mad scientist with us’ and then Daken’s sacrifice will be for _nothing_.” He reached her, caught her arm. “For nothing,” he repeated, “Can you live with that?” _I can’t_. “And what then? We send someone else? Laura?” She winced. “We send _Laura_ to be vivisected, Jubilation?” he dug deep at the woman’s weakness, wanting to make her feel as he was feeling, to make her understand his anguish. “You think that will maybe make them trust Williams more? Maybe we’ll finally find the clones, expose everything? Will it be worth it, when Laura will have been taken apart and studied like a beast –”

“Enough,” Jubilation bared her vampire teeth, a sinister light in her eye. “Don’t think I don’t understand how you feel,” she said fiercely as she shrugged him away. She took a few steps to the side, her eye wandering over the furniture, avoiding his gaze. “I do. Very well.”

“Then stop this,” he hissed. “While we still can. We’ll find another way. We didn’t think on this long enough, I _know_ we can find another way.”

She sighed. “It’s too late.”

“It’s _not –_ ”

“It’s too late,” she repeated, passing a hand through her hair. “I had confirmation of Williams and Kiel entering the F.B.I. headquarters last night. It’s too late.”

He snarled – an animalistic sound, full of pain. The Phoenix echoed his sentiment with a virulent force that sent him reeling. The room vibrated. Jubilation took a step back.

“Quentin –”

“So now we wait, is it?” he hissed, reining the Phoenix in. “We wait for someone to come and get Daken? That’s the plan?”

Eyeing him warily, she nodded.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll just have to stop whoever comes, then.”

“Quentin, do you _want_ to cause an incident?” she snapped. “Word will get out that we’re harboring a murderer. It will escalate –”

“Word wouldn’t get out if you hadn’t put it out there in the first place!” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You, you and him and fucking _Jean_ and this fucking plan –” The furniture shook. Jubilation surveyed it wearily.

“You need to calm down.” Her voice was eerily calm, as if she was dealing with a wounded beast. Quentin knew what it looked like, knew what she was thinking, but he couldn’t stop the psychic vibrations. He was upset; he knew that. He should be able to control himself; why couldn’t he?

“You need to stop patronizing me and acknowledge –”

“I know this is fucked up, Quentin.” She kept her voice low, there was almost a musicality in it. He recognized the vampiric glamour; he’d seen her use it often enough. She must be worried for her safety is she was trying to control him like that.

He deflated. He let out a sob, pushed a fist against his mouth, bit it hard. She let him, her gaze still on the shaking furniture.

“Go blow something up in the Danger Room,” she said quietly.

He lowered his fist from his mouth; he was shaking just as badly as the furniture. “You just want me out of your way.”

“I want you _sane._ ” She clenched her jaw.

“Sure, I don’t doubt it. _And_ if someone comes for Daken I’ll be out of the way…”

“Quentin, you’re losing your grip on your powers. And with what happened yesterday –” She paused, not needing to finish that thought. Quentin didn’t want to finish it, either. “You need an outlet. Go and blow some shit up.”

“If they come –” He hiccupped. A chair flew to the ceiling. Jubilation looked up at it.

“If someone comes, I’ll call you,” she said, and he didn’t need telepathy to know she was lying.

But it was true that he was losing it, and pretty badly at that. Of how much use could he be, like this? How much damage could he unwillingly do?

“I know you won’t call me,” he said. The next words, he dredged out of himself, because he knew she was right in this. “I’m going.”

“Good.” She nodded. “That’s… good.” She worried her lower lip. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

“Spare me. I told you I’m going; I’m going.” He clenched his jaw. She nodded again, watched him as he went to open the door. The furniture hadn’t stopped moving.

Billy was standing outside; he eyed Quentin warily.

“We must stop meeting like this,” quipped Quentin, feeling hollow inside. Billy threw a look past Quentin’s shoulder, obviously looking for Jubilation.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Peachy.” Quentin walked past him, not wanting to witness the ensuing conversation. The walls of the corridor were vibrating; he was all too aware he was the one doing it, all too aware that Billy had come to the rescue.

He took flight and moved quickly, trying not to pay attention to how everything shook when he was near, to how heads were peeking out of classrooms. Once inside the Danger Room, he contacted Idie.

 _Can you do me a favor?_ he asked without preamble, bothering her for the umpteenth time in just a few days. But he didn’t trust himself to reach out to Broo, since the alien almost certainly was in close proximity with Jean, and he didn’t want to know what he could do to the fellow telepath if he felt her mind again. He could cripple her.

 _Quentin? Sure_. Idie’s mind was, as always, soft and reassuring, even if there was an undercurrent of concern.

_I’m in the Danger Room. I’ll leave my mind open for you. Can you warn me if something happens to Daken?_

As soon as she heard the name, an echo reverberated through Quentin’s skull: _Please take care of him_.

Such plea – a broken-voiced appeal that twisted his guts – was uttered by Daken’s voice. Quentin staggered, felt the reinforced walls of the Room vibrate.

 _When did you speak with Daken?_ he demanded to know. He fought the instinct to rummage through her brain, to ascertain if she knew about the plan. Idie wouldn’t lie to him either way.

 _Just now_ , she said, worry coming through. Quentin recalled her face while on the phone earlier, the rage and worry on her features. _He said you two fought, he wouldn’t tell me what it was about, and then he said that. He said… other things._ She was trying to keep those other things hidden in her mind and he let her, dumbfounded, sensing they had nothing to do with the plan, but being confessions of other, more intimate nature. He sobbed, a tightness in his chest. _He really…_ she hesitated, _He really loves you_. She exuded wonder. She’d doubted it. She hadn’t told Quentin, but he’d heard the disapproval in her voice sometimes. The walls rattled.

_And he told you to take care of…_

_Of you._ Idie sounded choked up. _What’s happening? Why was he talking like that, like he –_

 _Just tell me if something happens,_ he interrupted her, not wanting to hear her say it. Not wanting to hear her say that Daken had sounded like he was leaving, like he was dying.

He sealed the Room, and what came next was pure mayhem. He hadn’t realized that he’d been, in fact, actually controlling himself. What had happened while talking with Jubilation was nothing compared to the hell he unleashed on the Room now. He needn’t worry about destroying it, it was built to sustain terrible damage, and his subconscious knew that, and he cut loose. Waves upon waves of raw power melted whatever obstacle the Room conjured, and he curled up at the center of it all, screaming with all the air in his lungs. _I can’t,_ wailed something inside him, _I can’t, I can’t, not again, not again, oh please not again._ He couldn’t stand by and watch, he couldn’t. Jubilation had no right to ask him to; Daken had no right to do this to him, to kill him like this. _But he will, and I’ll let him. I’ll let him do that, hurt me again, and again, and again, until I save him_. It wasn’t too late, it _wasn’t,_ he could still do something, he could still stop this. His thoughts came sluggish, feverish, as if he were conjuring them from somewhere else, as if he was far, far away from himself. Decentered, anesthetized. Suffocated by blazing heat, by an agonizing pressure. Dissolving in a white hot room, rising again –

- _tin? Quentin!_

Idie’s voice, panicked, urgent. He came to, the Room a mess around him, the floor and the walls blackened by fire. They’d need to make some adjustments, recalibrate it –

 _Where were you?_ she asked, terror in her voice, _I couldn’t feel you, I –_

 _Daken?_ he interrupted her, dread filling his veins. Already? God, already? He got up and staggered, his legs hurting as if he’d been kneeling there for hours on end.

Had he? It had felt like a moment. He recalled – white, all was white and pulsing –

 _It’s the Avengers_ , she said, and he was on the move already, forcing the Room’s doors open. He took flight. _They’re here, they wanted to arrest Daken_ –

 _Where?_ He hovered at the first intersection, waiting for directions, not wanting to lose precious moments were he to pick the wrong corridor.

 _The garden, the entrance…_ He sprinted. _They’re fighting,_ she continued, _I’m on my way_ –

 _Who’s fighting_? He flew as fast as he could, his heart thumping in his ears.

 _He’s alone!_ she cried with an anguish she wouldn’t have displayed before her chat with Daken. Quentin cursed and flew harder.

 _Do you see him, what’s happening?_ Only a few precious seconds more, he was almost there…

_Jubilation says to stand down!_

_Fuck Jubilation._ He dived past the entrance into the garden, registered nothing save the cluster near the gates, the colorful costumes of those surrounding Daken. There was screaming and it was Daken’s voice, Daken was screaming, they were making him scream –

Quentin stopped midair as if held by a leash and he spun, snarling, searching Billy with his gaze.

“Let me go!” He reached for the Phoenix Force. Billy stared him down, his face white and set.

 _Quentin_ , Idie’s voice, frantic, _What’s happening? What do you want me to do?_ She was standing beside Jubilation, a hand on the vampire’s arm, and she meant it, bless her. _She said to stand down, to let them take Daken –_

 _The idiot’s offered himself as bait!_ He thought back at her, and she gasped, her hand tightening around Jubilation’s arm. The vampire didn’t react, her eye on the fight going on behind Quentin.

The other X-Men were standing in the background, dutifully obeying their leader, but looking none too happy about it. Robert was visibly itching to fight, to go help Daken. Quentin could hear the struggle behind him, the curses. It didn’t sound like a fight – not that it was a fair fight – it sounded like an animal being cornered. Billy was grimacing, but held him in place.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Billy!” snarled Quentin, preparing to do so.

“Stand _down_ , Phoenix!” barked Jubilation. Gone was every trace of concern from her voice. She stood, every inch their leader, her face an inscrutable mask. “You don’t know what he’s done,” she shouted.

Idie pulled at her arm. “What? What justifies this?” _A bait?_ she asked Quentin, _So it’s an act, his resisting? Us standing here, doing nothing_... She seethed with indignity.

This was a show. It was a fucking show, designed to fool their enemy. The Avengers would report that he’d vehemently disagreed but that the X-Men had stopped him. They’d report some other X-Men questioning orders. It would give the impression of chaos, that they hadn’t known what was happening.

This part of the plan was smart. Quentin hated that it was.

“He’s done nothing,” he shouted. _I’ll stand by him. I’ll always stand by him_. “Billy, I swear I’m not bluffing –”

“He’s a murderer, Quentin!” snapped Jubilation. “He killed that General, General Williams, eight years ago!” He knew that. She knew that; they all knew that. The other X-Men jumping at this, the gasps – it was because they all knew it, because she was saying it as if it was news to them, maybe because some of them were beginning to see through the act. For instance, there was distinct horror in Katherine’s eyes, a dawning comprehension in Robert’s.

And now Jubilation was forcing Quentin to either play along, or expose their bluff and cause more harm than good. He knew what he ought to say for the plan to work. Feign ignorance, horror at the revelation.

And then came silence; the fight had ended.

Quentin turned, fearing the Avengers already gone away with Daken, but there he was, head lowered, long hair hiding his face, being manhandled. Hulkling held him as Spider-Woman tied him up; Ms. Marvel was looking back at the X-Men, her wary gaze trained on Quentin. No other Avenger in sight. Just the three of them; they hadn’t even come in with full force. Hulkling had his face angled away from his teammates – he was grimacing, his expression mimicking perfectly that of his husband’s.

He was in on the plan. He and Billy were in on the plan. The sudden thought knocked the wind out of Quentin.

Then Daken looked up, and saw him. And his face contorted, his bright blue eyes apologized, and the next moment Hulkling was tightening his hold on him, shouting: “He’s using them again!”

Daken cursed and snarled, struggled against Hulkling. Quentin stared at the display, wondering what the angle was now. He’d let them take him, that was his plan; what was he doing? What was happening?

What should Quentin do?

Free him. Help him. Save him.

Jeopardize everything.

Jubilation was suddenly beside Quentin. “Take him away!” she snapped at the Avengers, “For fuck’s sake, take him –”

“What’s happening,” croaked Quentin. She turned to look at him and, from this close, she allowed her face to show her remorse.

“He can manipulate pheromones,” she said gently, as if he didn’t know. As if they all didn’t know. “Hulkling noticed –”

“What?” Another display, another act. For whose benefit? Certainly not the Avengers –

“I fear –” she hesitated, wet her lips. Her gaze screamed uneasiness. “Quentin, we fear he’s been manipulating you.”

His mind screamed at the lie. Why the act, why such horrible -

To make his erratic behavior somebody else’s fault. To pin what he did on someone else…

“Lies!” screamed Daken, and the desperation in his voice, at least, was real. “Quentin, dearest, that’s not true, I swear, I love you, help me…”

Quentin felt bile rushing up his mouth. This was obscene, this was worse than what Daken had already done. This wasn’t right, what they were doing – what Daken must have planned with Jubilation shortly after discovering about the kid from the park – wasn’t right.

Quentin knew, without looking for him, that the kid from the park was still in the area. He was still there, broadcasting, he was there, he was filming the scene. He was filming Daken trashing about, disheveled, mad-looking; he was filming Hulkling telling Quentin that “Pheromones warp your perception, make you think what he wants you to, make you _do_ what he wants you to.”

He was filming Quentin’s horrified expression, Quentin shaking his head violently, Quentin stuttering “No”s and “You can’t”s; and he, and the world with him, was taking it at face value, not knowing that Quentin couldn’t simply do or say anything else, that Quentin couldn’t believe that Daken was willingly making the world think that he’d tricked Quentin into his bed. That he’d raped Quentin, like Raze had accused him of doing –

Oh, God. Daken must have taken the idea from Raze. And Raze would see this, and would believe it.

Quentin couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t, God, he couldn’t let it happen. He would battle everyone if it would mean making Daken stop looking like this, if it would mean making him stop saying such things, if it would mean making him stop turning to threats and calling Quentin an idiot for not helping him. Daken was too good at this. He was putting everything into the display, he was making it raw, making it real. He was too believable. It was excruciating and it was making Quentin bleed.

Daken couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sacrifice himself for the cause; and he couldn’t sacrifice the two of them like this, turn everything into an obscenity just to protect Quentin from his own mistake.

This was wrong. Wrong, horribly wrong.

Why was he still standing? Why hadn’t he torn Billy apart yet, freed himself, taken Daken and fled, never to come back?

If he did that, what would happen to Jessica Williams, who’d sold the information?

But what did he care about her? She might be doomed anyway. She might be already dead. The truth was that this plan was mad, it couldn’t work, it would serve no other purpose but allowing Daken to self-flagellate and ultimately die –

The Avengers were leaving the premises. They were dragging Daken with them, dragging him outside – on a rational level, past the screeches and his disbelief, Quentin guessed Jubilation hadn’t given them clearance to teleport from inside the school.

As it was, it gave him a few precious moments to end this madness. He reached for the Phoenix Force, he felt that Billy had sensed that and was preparing to counter his attack, he saw Jubilation weigh up something and come to a conclusion, her jaw clenched. He prepared to fling her aside; he heard Idie calling, _Quentin, Quentin, calm down_ , and shut her out.

“He told me to tell you,” said Jubilation, her voice as low as she possibly could, “it’s not your choice to make.” _Yes, it is_. He started to tune her out, but she spoke again, grimacing as if she was saying something foul.

And she was. She said something so foul that Quentin reeled, and he stared at her – uncomprehending, disbelieving, shocked – and missed his window of opportunity, and the Avengers vanished with Daken.

Daken, who’d told her to tell Quentin: “If you impose your will on him like you wanted to do with Evan, you’re no better than Romulus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ It was taking all of Maiko’s self-control not to throw her knives at Jubilation Lee.
> 
> .
> 
> As those who follow me on Tumblr may know, I’ve been pretty busy for a while now. I’m attending a post-graduation course which takes much of my time and is unfortunately leaving me very little time to work on this story. I barely managed to finish this chapter – which I’d started ages ago – just in time for the scheduled update, but then there was the editing to do too, and so everything got a little delayed.  
>  So this note is to tell you that updates will almost certainly be scarce from now onwards. I realize it’s unfair, given the cliffhanger, but life brought me here and I can’t take time away from the course. I’ll still write, and I’ll still update; just not as often as I used to. Rest assured, I have no intention to abandon this story; it’s too important for me, and I will see it to its completion eventually.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiko isn't sure if she can believe anything they tell her. Raze couldn't care less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! Yes, I know I said that updates would now be few and far between, due to the stressful amount of work I’m doing for the course – but I couldn’t leave you hanging from that cliff (ha. *insert forced laughter*). So I opened my outline file, moved some bits around (some events, some POVs), and got to a solution that I think works well with my timetable (and kind of fits the plot too): shorter chapters. This gives me the time to write and edit at a reasonable pace, and gives you updates with the same schedule than before. It also means that there will be more chapters! I haven’t the faintest idea how much will there be though, I’m still fixing some things in the outline, so for now I just took down the estimated number that I’d put up some time ago.
> 
> On a different note, I hope you’re still enjoying the story. You’re always most welcome to tell me your thoughts – hell, I’d die to hear them ^-^

30.

“Another conversation with no destination,  
Another battle never won.  
And each side is a loser,  
So who cares who fired the gun?

And I'm learning, so I'm leaving,  
And even though I'm grieving,  
I'm trying to find the meaning.”

Florence + the Machine – _St. Jude_

 

 

It was taking all of Maiko’s self-control not to throw her knives at Jubilation Lee.

It had taken all her self-control not to storm the school, demanding answers, the moment she’d been told what was happening half a world away. She’d wanted to teleport there immediately, help otousan fight – she’d been shocked by the X-Men’s behavior, by their betrayal. They’d just stood there as otousan got hurt, as he fought alone. But something in the way he was acting had nagged her immediately, his movements too uncoordinated – and then Jean Grey had contacted Chie, told her it was all a ruse, somehow convinced her to tell Maiko to wait.

So Maiko had waited. She’d sat on her bed, fingers digging painfully into her thighs, and she’d watched, dreading every second, as otousan degraded himself, as he admitted to the violation Raze had accused him of, as he hurled insults at Phoenix, as he was dragged away, away, away to God knew where.

And she’d watched as Phoenix, white-faced and shaking badly and surrounded by fiery flames, turned and fled into the building; she’d watched as Jubilation Lee reached the young man who was filming everything – the young man who’d taken pictures of otousan and Phoenix the day before, the young man who’d been threatened by Phoenix, the young man who’d been broadcasting for hours, saying how dangerous Phoenix was; and she’d watched as Jubilation Lee explained what pheromones were, as she said they hadn’t known otousan could control them, as she said, her voice lowering, that she feared otousan had used them on Phoenix.

Even an idiot could have seen that it was a ruse to protect Phoenix, but the fact remained that it had been an Avenger to express such doubts first. And the Avengers were beyond reproach, the government’s lackeys.

Maiko had watched, seething, as Jubilation Lee said that otousan had been arrested for the murder of General Richard Williams. She understood that there was something afoot, that otousan had probably agreed to it, that explanations would be given soon; but she couldn’t stop herself from wanting to go to the school immediately, dressed as she was in her nightgown but still deadly with her knives, and throw them at Jubilation Lee, who spoke with such contempt, with such disgust.

She’d had to stop herself from thinking such things, from wishing to act upon such desires. Because if she went there, with a commando, on American soil, it would be taken as an act of war against the US government – the current administration didn’t care about attacks on mutants, but such an incident could be used as an excuse to act against Madripoor. Madripoor’s situation was enough murky without going blindly in, given that its spokesperson was being detained for a crime that could be linked back to the island. It was a tangled web, and before acting – and putting Madripoor, but most especially Raze, in danger – Maiko had to have all the pieces, to understand what was going on.

Raze had received the news with a shrug and had turned on nir side to get back to sleep. Charles – sitting straight in the bed next to nirs, which Raze had brought up to the room nemself – had looked more concerned than their sibling. It was thanks to him that Maiko had managed to convince Raze to get up and join her in the conference room, where they would wait for a small group of X-Men.

They’d waited for more than an hour. Maiko had no time to fear for the worst, for Jean had once again contacted Chie, telling her that a heated discussion was having place at the school.

So she’d grown impatient, the ignorance of what was happening tearing at her. She would have even welcomed – while dreading it, because she wouldn’t have known how to react yet – being notified of otousan’s arrest by the Avengers, or by anyone else; but no communication of the sort had happened. She’d waited, and at some point they’d been joined in the conference room by Rogue, whom Maiko hadn’t thought of alerting; some guard – perhaps some mutant who’d been in Mystique’s service – must have done it without consulting with Maiko first.

They’d waited for more than an hour, until at last the X-Men had come.

And now she was listening to Jubilation Lee’s explanation, and it was taking all her self-control not to throw her knives at the vampire. She would have gladly thrown them at all her companions, who’d stood by and watched it all unfold. She might, perhaps, spare Phoenix, who was sitting in a corner and looked murderous as Lee talked, and who’d approached Raze as soon as he’d arrived – to tell nem, his voice breaking with every word, that what had been said about otousan using his pheromones on him wasn’t true. Raze, completely unfazed, had just shrugged again.

Nir utter lack of response to what was happening worried Maiko, but she’d have to deal with it later. She knew that any attempt to talk would be deflected, that ne’d focus nir attention elsewhere, that ne’d act as if ne didn’t care; she hoped that it would just be an act, but she knew it could all be true. These past few days had cemented that ne’d never be the same again, that ne was furious and hurting and so, so angry with otousan.

Ne stood behind her in the conference room, leaning casually against the wall, and yawned every now and then. Charles was beside him, and she ached to know if they were conversing right now: to join their psychic link, to understand better what was going on in nir mind. But she couldn’t. Chie, who was now standing next to Maiko’s chair, just the day before had forced herself to overcome her shock about what she’d already seen in Raze’s memories, and she’d tried to get into nir mind again – only to be rejected by Charles’ shields. The young man had acted apologetically, had said he wasn’t doing it on purpose, and yet the fact remained that they still couldn’t access Raze’s mind, couldn’t know what he was thinking, nor how – or if – was ne coping.

Maybe Jean would have better luck. She’d come with Jubilation Lee, and stood closer to Maiko’s side of the room than the X-Men’s – in fact, she appeared to be standing as far away from Phoenix as she could, and as Lee explained what had happened, Maiko could see why: Jean had been in league with otousan, while Phoenix had been kept in the dark.

That is, of course, if Maiko believed this insane story. It was so absurd, so dangerous, so different from otousan’s elegance of thought; she couldn’t recognize him in the barbaric rashness of this plan.

When Lee finished talking, Maiko kept her silence, slowly going over every word of the vampire. This was so different from otousan, and yet it rang true. He’d told her time and again that he wanted to find Raze’s clones; and over the years he’d shown her his guilt, that now must be festering more than ever. He was doing this out of guilt, because of his confrontation with Raze. There was no other explanation. He was putting himself in danger for Raze.

And he’d left them – he’d left Madripoor – with a delicate situation that could blow up in their faces. True, he hadn’t cared about Madripoor – he’d made that abundantly clear – but he’d also given her clear instructions on how to regain his trust, and perhaps – oh, how she fervently hoped so! – even his affection, and this plan affected those instructions deeply. It affected Madripoor’s situation.

Not to mention how it would affect otousan himself. Maiko trembled at the thought of him being kept in prison or, worst case scenario, in the hands of butcherers. From how Lee was talking, he’d been left to his own devices; how would they know if he needed help? Maiko could act as a liaison, maybe, as she was his lawyer; but would she get access to him? And Lee hadn’t presented such option, anyway.

That was, she decided, the most pressing doubt.

“How will we stay in contact with him?” she asked.

Lee grimaced. “We won’t.” She raised a hand to prevent any protest. Maiko waited, her fingers itching for her knives. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Phoenix was visibly gritting his teeth. His face held a snarl that would surely have worried Lee, had she seen it, but she had her back to the powerful man. Her shoulders were tense, though; maybe she knew full well what was simmering behind her, or maybe she was simply eager to win Maiko over. “We want to give the impression that we’ve abandoned him,” said slowly the vampire. “It’ll lower their defenses, lull them into a false sense of security. They need to believe they can do everything they want –”

“But we _are_ abandoning him,” snapped Phoenix from his corner. Maiko appreciated it, for she’d been about to do the same. “Tell it like it is,” continued the man, his voice strangled, “It isn’t make-believe, it’s the truth. Because it’s more _believable_.”

 _The best lies are those coated in truth_. Maiko knew that. But this served no apparent purpose.

She knew that keeping in contact was near impossible. Any device would have been found, and telepathy was out of the question, given the blocking shields. She, as otousan’s lawyer, was the only option, and yet the vampire still hadn’t said it. Instead, she talked about giving the impression of abandoning him, and Maiko didn’t like what such proposition entailed.

“We aren’t abandoning him if that’s the plan itself.” Lee’s voice was calm, her stance serene, but the effect was ruined by the way her eye flickered with something like concern. She didn’t turn towards Phoenix and the man bared his teeth.

“You keep telling yourself that, Jubilation,” he snarled, “if that’s what it takes to make you sleep tonight.” If he was so furious, if he disagreed so much, why hadn’t he stopped everything when he’d realized what was happening?

But maybe otousan had given him no choice. Nor had Lee; they’d created a situation where going against the Avengers would have put the X-Men in danger. And that had held Phoenix back. And now he was raging because of that. He hadn’t been able to do anything, and he was lashing out at the vampire.

Lee still didn’t turn towards him. “Phoenix, we’ve talked about –”

Phoenix sprang to his feet. He stood there, fists balled, but said nothing, did nothing. He didn’t even catch fire. Nevertheless, it caused a little commotion – Jean tensed and so did William Kaplan, who’d so far been silently looming behind Lee, his eyes always on Phoenix. The sorcerer had immobilized Phoenix, before; it dawned on Maiko that he must be here with them to keep Phoenix in check.

Maiko didn’t like the tension that was forming between the X-Men. She didn’t like it one bit. She needed them whole; _otousan_ needed them whole.

“Stop this circus,” she said, her voice icily cold. She rose to her feet, flattening her palms on the table. Her own guards, that had been standing at the edges of the room, were slowly converging in a defensive formation. As if anyone could stop Phoenix; if the man decided to really cut loose, he’d dispose of everyone in a matter of nanoseconds. Maiko raised a hand to stop her men, then found Phoenix’s gaze, and held it.

There was such heat in his eyes that it made her own water, but she stood her ground. This man cared, cared deeply, and he was bleeding from it; and while she understood, and she was deeply grateful for that, they needed to stand together.

“Please,” she said quietly. “It’s done. There’s nothing we can do about it.” Her voice cracked a little; Phoenix shut his eyes, relieving her from his blistering gaze. He seemed to falter; Maiko continued, “All we can do is make it work. Get him out as soon as we can. You want that, don’t you?”

There was silence; Phoenix emitted a few sparks. Kaplan looked about ready to conjure something to cage his teammate and Lee was more rigid than before. The temperature in the room rose – Maiko was sure it wasn’t just her impression; it was actually hotter than before.

“I want him out now,” enunciated Phoenix, seemingly unaware of what he was doing, of the alarm he was causing.

Or perhaps he was very aware of it, and he simply didn’t care.

Then he heaved a sigh, and his shoulders sagged. He seemed to shrink. “But that was his choice.” There was a deadness in his voice, a resignation, that didn’t go unnoticed by Maiko. Still, now wasn’t the time to twist the knife by asking Phoenix what exactly had transpired, or how had he reacted to otousan’s plan. She’d seen already that he disagreed, and that would have to suffice.

Maiko sat down. After a few tense moments, Phoenix did the same, and his teammates relaxed.

Lee folded her hands on the table.

“It was,” she said softly, either for his benefit or Maiko’s – and Raze’s, that still hadn’t said a word. Maiko wanted to turn and have a look at nem, but kept her eyes on the vampire, who was still talking. “And we know it’s risky. We know it’s a gambit. But we believed – he believed – it was the best we could do with the cards we’ve been given.”

“Give them something they want, and hope it’s enough to plant a mole,” mused Maiko out loud. The plan had its merits, but most of it relied on sheer luck.

Could they have found a better plan? Perhaps. But this was what she had to work with now. She could bemoan the rash decision all she wanted, but otousan was in chains now. And she feared he would remain so, for even if they overthrew the current government, he’d still confessed to a murder _on tape_.

“And once we succeed,” she refused to wonder _whether_ they’d succeed, refused to think of such an outcome, “How do we get him out?”

At this, the vampire looked uncertain for the first time. “He said he trusted we’d find a way.”

Phoenix snorted, an ugly sound that held no amusement at all. While it wasn’t the reaction she would have expected, Maiko was more worried by what she’d just heard. She stared at the vampire. She’d been ready to believe otousan might have concocted such a plan, she’d been ready to work with what he’d given her – but this didn’t sound like him at all.

“No escape plan?” she summarized. “You want me to believe that he walked into this with no escape plan?” Her voice rose in disbelief.

Lee nodded. A creeping feeling slithered beneath Maiko’s skin. What if it wasn’t otousan’s plan at all? What if he’d been discarded by the X-Men, to better suit their purposes?

What if she should have never revealed her bluff regarding Phoenix’s video, as otousan had suggested, in order to keep an upper hand on the X-Men, in order to prevent this?

“Where’s Laura?” was the only thing she asked, fighting with all her might to keep a calm demeanor. Laura would know that something was wrong. Laura would help. Why wasn’t she here? Lee had said she was on duty.

Was she?

Lee grimaced. “I told you. She’s keeping an eye on Garner’s house.”

“Call her.”

Lee hesitated. “She’s in radio silence.”

Convenient. If it was true, it meant that Laura didn’t even know what had happened to otousan.

Beside her, Chie shifted on her feet, and lay a hand on Maiko’s shoulder. As if to reassure her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Lee.

“Oh, you do?” Maiko kept her voice level. She was ready to stand up and throw her knives at Jubilation Lee – or die trying – but Chie was still keeping her hand on her shoulder.

“Yes.” Lee grimaced. Her eye betrayed uneasiness. It was clear she wasn’t proud of whatever she’d done. “He said you’d think that. And keeping Laura in the dark – you’re right, we did it so she wouldn’t stop us.”

She kept using that _us_ , as if she was in league with otousan. Maiko didn’t know if she could trust her. She knew Chie was giving the X-Men at least the benefit of the doubt. She itched to look up at Chie, but kept her gaze on Lee, studying her expression, waiting for an explanation which would have to be pretty convincing.

Lee shook her head. “Jean is showing your telepath her interactions with your father. But I know – he knew – it won’t convince you; you’d think it an illusion. You’re worried,” she added the obvious. “You’re worried we’re using your father. Rest assured, I _respect_ your father.”

“Even if you do respect him, you could still be using him.” She ached for Raze to say anything, anything at all; she couldn’t fight this battle alone. She couldn’t survive this while knowing ne didn’t care.

But ne kept silent.

“No.” Lee slipped her hand in a chest pocket – slowly, so that everyone would see her. She pulled out otousan’s cell phone. “He left me this. I assume it contains something for you.” She put it on the table. It moved slowly towards her – probably due to Phoenix’s telekinesis. Glancing up at the man, Maiko saw that he was crying, his face turned away. When the phone was within her reach, Maiko grabbed it, doing her best to control her shaking hands but failing miserably.

The most recent thing in the phone’s archive was an audio recording which had been made just a few hours before. Maiko stared at the little icon, suddenly dreading its content.

Lee cleared her throat. “We can give you and Raze privacy –”

“No.” Raze’s voice made Maiko jump; she hadn’t expected nem to speak. “Play it, Maiko. I’ve wasted enough time; I want to get back to sleep.” It was so horribly cold, nir voice; so uncaring. Maiko fought a sob back in her throat and played the recording.

“Lee’s telling the truth,” said otousan’s voice, without preamble. There was no greeting; no insult hurled at her, no fearful words to Raze. Just a tightly controlled exposition of facts. “I’m giving myself up as bait. We hope it’ll be enough to make them trust Williams, but that could still take additional measures on her part. She knows what to do in such case, how to work her way up. If you try to stop this, they’ll smell the trap. Keep your head down, keep working on Madripoor. Your priority is R-Raze’s safety.” That crack was the only moment his voice betrayed something. “Renounce me. Do not take my case, there’s conflict of interest, it’d tie this with Madripoor and you can’t afford that. But I don’t think they’ll want to set up a process; it’d put me in the public eye. They’ll probably declare me a threat to national security and stash me somewhere and no one will bat an eye.” There was a pause so long that Maiko feared the recording had ended; but looking down at it, watching the device through a veil of tears, she saw that there was still some seconds left. She waited, and waited, and waited, till otousan said, in a voice much less controlled than before: “You’ll free them. I know you will.”

And that was the end of it. Nothing else, no acknowledgment of how sour things had been left between them, as if they were of no importance, as if he didn’t care. Maiko fought to even her breath; she knew she was on the verge of breaking down right there in front of the X-Men.

No one dared say anything; Lee waited, this woman who’d just presented her with the cold harsh reality of otousan’s sacrifice, of his disregard for her.

But Maiko was strong. She would survive this and do what needed to be done.

Think of her sibling first.

Close ranks around nem and protect nem as viciously as she could.

“Well, that settles it.” Raze’s voice, utterly uninterested. “Are we done? I’m missing my beauty sleep.” Maiko shuddered. She couldn’t believe – didn’t _want_ to – that ne really was so unaffected. She turned to look at nem. And there ne was, still leaning casually against the wall, no trace of concern of nir features. If anything, ne seemed bored. Beside nem, Charles was grimacing, his head slightly tilted towards nem. Raze scrunched up nir nose and bared nir teeth and Charles shrank away, his gaze back to the room again. He saw Maiko looking at them and looked abashed.

Maiko dried her tears with the back of her hand, but before she could speak – before she could confront her sibling – Phoenix’s voice echoed in the room. Low, cracking with power. Dangerous.

“What the fuck is wrong with you.”

Raze raised an eyebrow. Turning in her seat, Maiko saw that Phoenix was still seated, his blazing eyes fixed on Raze with a frightening fierceness.

Maiko searched helplessly for Lee’s gaze. Would she have to worry about Phoenix hurting Raze? Would she even be able to stop it? Next she turned to William Kaplan, and saw that he was intensely focused on his teammate.

“What the _fuck_ ,” repeated Phoenix through gritted teeth, louder, when it became apparent that Raze wasn’t going to answer, “is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Raze, nir voice dripping with irony. “Maybe I was kidnapped and tortured as a child, you know, maybe _that._ And whose fault was that?”

“You have no idea,” began Phoenix, his voice still so dangerously low, but that still seemed to be the only sign of hostility from him. He held himself rigidly, was controlling himself with some obvious effort. “You have no idea of how much he tortures himself over –”

“I don’t care if he does.” Raze spoke over the powerful mutant. “You know what, that’s what he should do. It’s _good_ that he does. He should be consumed with it, he should suffer, he should pay.” Every trace of disinterest was gone from nem as ne walked to the table and slammed nir hands on it, looking at Phoenix with nir teeth bared. “There’s so much he has to pay for. And he’s in prison now? I say it was about time. I say he reaped what he’s sown. I say, good riddance,” ne enunciated clearly.

“He should pay,” repeated Phoenix. His eyes blazed.

“Hey, _rapists_ go to _prison_.” Raze spat the words. “It’s how things go.”

“He’s no rapist.” Phoenix got to his feet. Raze shrieked a laughter.

“Oh, you keep telling yourself that,” and ne laughed, and laughed. “Blind, you’re _blind_ –”

“He’s no rapist,” repeated Phoenix, louder, the air in the room cracking, “And he’s not in prison. There are good chances he’s somewhere _else_. Being _tortured_.”

“By that Colcord fellow?” Raze sobered up and shrugged. “Perhaps now he’ll know what if feels like, to be vivisected.”

The horrifying irony of saying that was completely lost to nem. But ne didn’t know. Ne had no idea what otousan had lived through, what otousan had never wanted to tell nem. Maiko couldn’t bear how callously ne said such things: she was torn between betraying her promise to otousan and tell nem, so that ne would stop; and her fear that, were she to do it, Raze wouldn’t react as she hoped, wouldn’t care all the same.

But maybe Phoenix would spare her from such dilemma. Perhaps he’d explode, and tell nem in her stead. She had a feeling that he knew very well what otousan had been through. He was visibly seething at Raze’s last words.

“He does know,” he said, sure enough, but left it at that. Raze snorted, then hesitated – nir fingers twitched on the table. Phoenix waited, maybe expecting nem to ask – but Raze said, staring him down:

“That doesn’t concern me. He has to pay now.”

Maiko winced. Such venom in her little sibling, such hatred. Oh, she couldn’t bear it.

Phoenix seemed shocked out of his words for a moment. He staggered, reached out to steady himself on a chair. Maiko inhaled to speak.

“Maiko, don’t make me hate you,” said Raze, without turning to look at her. “I know you forgive him but I don’t. Don’t force me to, don’t shove it down my throat, it sickens me. I’ve had enough of all of you –” ne turned, ready to leave, but froze in place, surrounded by a blue hue. Ne snarled.

Maiko understood immediately and rose to her feet, her gaze on Phoenix. “Let nem go.” Raising a hand, she stopped the guards from attacking Phoenix – that wouldn’t go well for them.

“Not until ne understands. I’ve had enough of this attitude.” Phoenix was surrounded by flames now. With a raised arm he appeared to be holding Kaplan back; perhaps the sorcerer needed to surprise him to get the upper hand on him. His other teammates looked pretty much alarmed, as much as Maiko felt. “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt anyone,” he barked at no one in particular. Behind Maiko, Charles and Chie whimpered in unison. Jean was cradling her helmet. “I _said_ I’m not going to hurt anyone,” repeated the man, sounding exasperated. Maiko exchanged a glance with Lee – she saw in the woman’s grimace that Phoenix was out of control, that she didn’t think she could do anything about it – and made her decision.

“I believe you,” she said, softly. “Please, let nem go. Ne’ll listen to you.”

“I won’t –” spat Raze.

“Ne’ll _listen,_ ” said Maiko forcefully. She closed the short distance between her and her sibling, laid a hand on nir arm. _Quiet_ , she tapped on nir arm, and _danger._ Whatever Raze felt on the matter, ne needed to understand that Phoenix would defend their father with viciousness, that at the moment Phoenix didn’t care about anyone else.

And perhaps, if ne listened to whatever Phoenix had to say, ne could be swayed. Not to forgiveness, perhaps – not so soon – but to understanding, at least.

Raze gritted nir teeth, nir yellow eyes flashing, and nodded.

Phoenix let nem go, and Raze regained control of nir body with a snarl, but thankfully kept in place. Maiko squeezed nir arm. They all waited for the storm to unleash.

And kept waiting. Phoenix stood unmoving, unnerving in his stillness, in the way he was staring at Raze.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” burst out Raze. Maiko flinched, but Phoenix didn’t look offended. He kept gazing at nem with unsettling black eyes – she realized with a start that such non-color had swallowed everything. But Raze didn’t appear to take notice. “Nothing you have to say, _nothing_ –”

“You’re just like your father,” said Phoenix. Raze emitted another snarl, but the man continued, as if he were reminiscing, lost in something else, as if he wasn’t in a room full of people incredibly alarmed at his actions: “How much he hated Logan. How much he regretted that after –”

“Christ, spare me.” Raze crossed nir arms, grabbed viciously at nir upper arms. “Say your piece, be _done_ with it –”

“Nothing I say will change your mind,” agreed Phoenix. Raze was startled into silence. “You’re angry, it’s too fresh, it consumes you. It won’t matter to you if I tell you that your father was… tortured, for most of his life –”

“ _Ah_ , it’s a competition.” Raze found nir words again. Maiko didn’t know if ne’d heard the hesitation in Phoenix’s voice, but she had. The man knew a great deal of things, it seemed. “He suffered more than me, is that what you’re saying?” spat Raze, “So what _I_ have lived through is nothing.” Ne was shaking. Maiko squeezed nir arm again, reassuringly, but ne was lost to her now. Ne was in another, darker world, where she couldn’t reach nem. “I should just suck it up, stop whining, is that so? What does it matter if he left me to the monsters, to the _animal_ , that he _abandoned_ me? He’s gone off on a heroic mission, he’s probably being vivisected as we speak, so I should just forgive and forget?” Nir voice pitched high in a fit of hysteria. Phoenix just kept staring at him with those eerie eyes. “You know what, he knows he belongs in prison, he knew he had to pay. Maybe he finally understood that, that’s why he’s doing this. And I don’t care, you hear me? I don’t _care_ , because he’s where he should be, he’s paying, he’s – say _something!_ ” ne exploded. And ne didn’t realize, ne surely didn’t – or perhaps ne did, and ne didn’t want to raise attention to it – that ne was crying.

Ne was in good company. Phoenix was crying as well, silent tears that released steam off his skin, which must be scalding hot. Maiko felt her cheeks wet, too. She couldn’t tear her attention away from the two of them.

Raze made a step forward. “Admit it. Admit that he should be in prison, not because of what he did to me, but because of what he did to people, to _people_ , with his pheromones, and he dared to say, he _dared_ to say, that his victims, his, his _victims_ enjoyed it.” Ne hiccupped. “ _Enjoyed_ it! Like it makes it more, I d-don’t know, more _okay_ – like it’s a _favor_ –”

A favor. She knew – she knew why otousan looked at it that way. It made her skin crawl, it made her want to retch, it had made her stare off into space more than once these past few days. She couldn’t begin to think about it; she didn’t _want_ to. She’d erected a wall between _that_ and the man she knew and loved and who didn’t love her anymore. The man who’d saved her, and raised her, and taught her everything.

She knew there were words for it. Victims of abuse, who recreate it on others. A circle, a serpent chasing its tail in an endless wheel of pain.

And telling Raze this – unveiling the sordid, horrid truth – would only upset nem more. Ne’d say that otousan’s past didn’t justify his actions, and ne would be right.

Phoenix must be thinking the same, because he wasn’t saying anything of the sort either. It would be wrong to.

Instead, he said, with a quiet voice: “You think he deserves to be in prison.”

“ _Yes!_ ” Raze looked relieved that Phoenix had finally spoken, relieved that ne could stop baring nir soul like that. Ne looked shaken that ne’d said so much; ne wore a wild expression, nir eyes like headlights.

“For how long?” Phoenix’s voice was calm, but his flames were crackling. “Years? All his life?” His eyes – their eerie onyx surface – flashed.

Raze started; ne began to say something, then shut nir mouth.

“Have you given any thought to this?” pressed Phoenix. “Have you stopped being angry for a moment, and really thought about it?”

“You talk as if I shouldn’t be angry –”

“No, I said I understand your anger. I’m great at _understanding_.” Phoenix spat the word like a curse, but it didn’t seem to be an insult to Raze – rather, it seemed he was upset at himself. “And I know it’s unfair to ask you this, that you have no obligation to think about this, but how long and how much and how does he have to pay for you to think it fair?” His voice cracked. Raze looked taken aback.

“I will _n-not_ be guilt-tripped.” Ne shook nir head. “I see what you’re doing, okay, I – you basically just admitted it!”

“Answer the question,” pressed Phoenix. “How long and how much and _how?_ ” The last word was uttered so violently, like a raw wound being torn wider. Raze jumped.

“I don’t _know_ , it’s not my job to –”

“Torture? Because he’ll be tortured. Maybe even now he’s being tortured. But that’s okay because he deserves it, right? You think he deserves it. For how long does it have to happen for you think it fair?” Phoenix looked raving mad; and this had gone on long enough. She’d thought – hoped – that Phoenix would be reasonable, that he’d gently guide Raze through acceptance, but the man was hurting too much for that; he was too worried about otousan to think about what weight he was putting on Raze’s shoulders.

She cleared her throat. “I think that’s enough –”

“Death?” Phoenix spoke over her, anguished. “Do you think that he deserves to die?”

The mere notion horrified Maiko. “They need him. They won’t _kill_ him, stop it –”

“I’m asking the kid.” Phoenix didn’t spare her a glance.

Raze was – ne was digging nir fingers into nir arms. Ne was drawing blood. Maiko took a step towards nem, alarmed; she would stop this.

“What she said,” ne croaked. Maiko reached nem.

“Accidents happen, his healing factor is defective, and that’s not what I asked.” Phoenix went on blindingly, apparently uncaring of what he was doing to her sibling. He only cared about otousan.

“That’s enough,” she repeated, a warning in her voice. She positioned her arm so that a knife would fall into her hand at need.

“Do you think that he deserves to die?” repeated Phoenix, not heeding the warning. But Lee did; she was on her feet, facing the man.

“Quentin, stop it. No one’s going to die.”

Phoenix laughed. A dark sound, edged with desperation. “Someone is bound to get hurt,” he snarled, “ _Sacrifices must be made._ Your words, not mine. You made a tactical decision, have the grace to live with it.”

“Get _hurt_ , not –”

“Do you think that he deserves to die?” He ignored her, his gaze once again on Raze. “That’s a simple question. You know, he _thinks_ that you _do._ Do you think –”

“No!” shrieked Raze. Ne was shaking. “Happy, are you happy, no, of course I don’t, what the fuck, what the fuck’s wrong with you –” Ne let out a wail, turned sideways, threw nemself at Maiko, hiding nir face against her chest. She wrapped her arms around nem, around nir body that was convulsing with sobs. She ached to murder Phoenix, there and then, for what he’d done to nem. For what ne’d forced nem to confront.

And Phoenix seemed to finally realize what he’d done. He seemed to shrink, his eyes normal now, a look of slight horror on his face. He took a step back.

He knew there were no words he could possibly say to undo the damage. He looked helplessly around, saw the hard gazes of his teammates. Maiko was seething with rage.

“I think you should leave,” she said coldly. Phoenix started, looked at her almost pleadingly.

“No, I –”

“Leave,” she roared. “If you care an _ounce_ about our father, if you think he’d just let you tear at his child like this –” _Even if he did the same to me_ , she thought savagely, but not to Raze, he would never permit such a thing to happen to Raze.

“I love your father.” Phoenix spoke with no emphasis, as if it were the most natural, obvious thing. A part of her rejoiced; and a part of her was screaming at the confession, that had been uttered as if he thought that it somehow justified his actions. “And I need to tell you –”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s important!”

But she ignored him; she turned away from him. She heard him argue with his teammates, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was Raze. She’d neglected nem long enough.

Ne was still crying, making little helpless sounds, grabbing convulsively at her. She hugged nem tightly, made soft cooing sounds, murmured against nir hair that it was going to be all right. She went back to the long terrible nights she’d faced over the years, to her little sibling waking up from nightmares, shaking terribly with fear.

She was peripherally aware of Chie taking the reins of the situation, of her and Rogue urging the X-Men to leave.

Phoenix protested some more, then stopped abruptly. Silence reigned for a while, the X-Men must have left, and Maiko was confronted with the magnitude of the task at hand. Everything was coming crashing down: Raze was hurting, the island’s position was in jeopardy, and otousan – otousan was gone where she couldn’t help him, and he’d done it willingly, and he’d ordered her not to interfere. And there was no extraction plan, as if he didn’t care whether they’d save him or not.

Hadn’t he thought – so Phoenix had said – that Raze wanted him dead?

Was he sacrificing himself?

God, no. She couldn’t think about that. If she did, she’d stop functioning. She had to believe that wasn’t the case if she wanted to keep her head clear and fix what she was dealing with.

There was a solution ready to at least one of these situations: Jean Grey was still in the room, and by God, Maiko would convince her to stand trial.

Would that the rest could be so easy to deal with. She passed her hands lightly over her sibling’s back and searched Charles with her gaze. The young man stood where he’d been, his eyes on the retreating guards. When the room was empty but for the four of them and Chie – Rogue must have accompanied the X-Men to the teleporting room, and Maiko hoped that she’d leave with them – Charles sighed.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

“Oh puh-lease,” mumbled Raze, and Maiko stood, dumb-founded, as ne extricated nemself from her hold and re-emerged, a grimace on nir face. She stared, horrified, as ne dried nir tears with the back of nir hand. Her breath caught in her throat as ne stared at her and shrugged and said: “What? That shut him up!”

And she felt her heart break, and her soul ache, and wondered how much of it had been an act. Not everything, certainly? It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

And Raze cracked nir neck and looked around and said brightly: “Come on, as if the bastard would really die. He’s a fucking cockroach.”

But there was a brief – so brief – hesitation. An uncertainty.

Ne was afraid.

At least that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Gashes on the walls. The flames were getting deeper.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin copes. Sort of.

31.

“The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out:  
You left me in the dark.  
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight,  
In the shadow of your heart.”

Florence + the Machine – _Cosmic Love_

 

 

Quentin was living in the Danger Room, closely monitored by Broo.

He figured it was the safest arrangement, given the number of times he’d lashed out already. He didn’t want to accidentally wipe out the entire school and the Room was built to withstand the most brutal of attacks; it would be fine. He’d cut loose three times already, and the Room had resisted.

Of course, he hadn’t _truly_ cut loose; if he’d done that, if the Phoenix Force had been let truly free, the planet would have been wiped out.

But he welcomed the relief, even small as it was. He was tense and aggressive, had traded insults with a few of his teammates already, and he didn’t want to make things worse.

He was living in the Danger Room, waiting for news that didn’t come.

At first he’d tried to stay positive. God knew he’d tried with all his might. But as the first few days passed with no communication from Jessica Williams, he’d had to face the truth: the plan wasn’t working.

Not that he’d ever thought it could, but everyone had been so hell-bent on keeping a confident front – at least when in his company – that he’d tried to do the same.

The plan wasn’t working, and he was left with his imagination, and his imagination was running wild.

His nightmares – when he slept – were filled with memories, with vivid enactments of Hiro’s meticulous recollections. He hadn’t been visited by such dreams in decades. They mingled with something else: Daken dying, over and over again. An experiment gone wrong, one time; a torture session drawn out for too long, another time.

Evan’s death, sometimes. Their faces mixed up. He was burning Evan down and all of a sudden there was Daken in front of him, Daken surrounded by flames, by _his_ flames, Daken asking him – _begging_ him – to kill him, and Quentin woke up from those nightmares with screeches echoing in his skull, flashes of white across his vision. _No, not again_ , he’d think feverishly, and then he couldn’t go back to sleep.

His days weren’t better. Oh, he wasn’t being left on his own. He was visited frequently, and would entertain long conversations on any subject of his visitor’s choosing – but not on Daken, never on Daken, he refused to speak, refused to _explain_ – while said visitors were safe behind the glass of the observation room: he forbade everyone from coming into the Room.

But there were times when he was alone. And he couldn’t help but seeing it all again, hearing it all again, what he’d done and what he’d said and what Daken had done and said; and what he’d done and said to Raze. The alliance with Madripoor still held, but not thanks to Quentin. He didn’t know what had possessed him –

Oh, he knew. It was seeing Raze like that, completely unfazed, as if ne didn’t care at all; and remembering that Daken was doing this for nem, all for nem, and had walked into it thinking that ne wanted him _dead_.

He couldn’t bear it; and he’d strived to make the goddamn child understand, but he’d made a mess of it. And he hadn’t even had a chance to repair what he’d done; but he didn’t blame Maiko for wanting him out of any further meeting. And he couldn’t, in all honesty, blame Raze either. Nir reaction was to be expected; any other moment, ne should be allowed the time to process nir feelings towards nir father. But this wasn’t any other moment. And Quentin dreaded to think of the unresolved feelings between the two of them; he dreaded to think of Raze facing nir father’s death without having mended things between them; he dreaded to think of Daken alone in some horrid facility, facing torture and thinking he somehow deserved it for not being able to protect his child...

He dreaded to think of Daken alone in some horrid facility, facing torture, and knowing that the last thing they’d done was fighting. That the last thing Quentin had done was fleeing from him. Quentin dissected every moment of their fight, wondered if he should have spoken differently, acted differently. If he should have remained in the room, to try and reason with Daken.

He should have freed him when he had the chance. He should have battled the world for him.

But Daken hadn’t let him.

 

* * *

 

 

On Christmas Morning he recalled their stupid date. The world had seemed so soft in that park, so safe. Daken had looked so happy – and then that kid had ruined everything. Studying the black traces of fire on the Room’s walls, Quentin thought that he should have killed the kid where he stood, cell phone and all.

Maybe everything would have gone the same, maybe Daken would have still done that horrible display in front of someone else’s camera, but at least Quentin would have been spared from seeing the kid on talk shows. He’d gone back to being a firechick, and staunchly defended Quentin from those that hadn’t been convinced by Daken’s display. He was enjoying his celebrity.

Out in the world, everything was going to hell. People attacking Quentin – ‘ _he’s a telepath and he didn’t realize he was fucking a murderer?_ ’ – people defending him – ‘ _that monster raped him! Have some respect!_ ’ – people wondering what he was doing – ‘ _he’s been holed up in the school for days now, how is he?_ ’ – people that wanted a show. They wanted him to come out and make a scene. They wanted him to confront Daken.

And Daken was nowhere. Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere. He was being ‘detained where he can’t harm anyone’, and no one seemed to be clamoring for a trial, yet everyone hoped Phoenix would find him and make him pay.

They kept reaching out for comments, but Jubilation turned them all down. She didn’t tell him – he didn’t want to see her – but he could still browse the news.

And the news weren’t good for Madripoor, either. The situation had backlashed for them, what with Daken being the island’s spokesperson. Maiko had to arrange a press conference where “Mystique” declared Madripoor had nothing to do with Williams’ murder, that Daken wasn’t in Madripoor’s service at the time; but that hadn’t convinced everyone. And people were clamoring for Jean’s head, too; if Madripoor kept harboring her, a criminal like Daken, it meant that Madripoor _relied_ on criminals.

For a mercy, Madripoor’s involvement in the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier incident still hadn’t made it to the press; but it was to be expected, since such information would be a double-edged sword in its giving a much needed context to Daken’s actions. But someone – mainly conspiracy bloggers – was beginning to do the math, and Quentin had no doubt that eventually the story, without the necessary details, would someday be mysteriously leaked to the press.

And that day would mark the end of Madripoor to the public’s eye.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean turned herself in.

He knew that Maiko had worked for days with the US Attorney General, trying to ensure Jean’s safety; but seeing her being handed to the Avengers took his breath away. She was in that situation, in part, because of him; because he’d lost, albeit briefly, control of the Phoenix, and she hadn’t been able to control what she’d syphoned. Of course, it had happened because she’d lost control herself, because she’d attacked him; but there still was a tiny part of him that blamed himself.

Regardless of that, he didn’t get his teammates’ worry; in truth, it irritated him. Jean wasn’t in immediate danger: she was as safe as she could be. She was in prison, yes; but she had a lawyer which even knew where she was being held, and there apparently would be a very public process – where, he supposed, he’d have to testify.

She wasn’t in danger, and comparing her situation to Daken’s was a fireproof way to get in a fight with Quentin. Oh, they did that so they could try and relate to him, so that they could tell him they knew what he felt, but that was ridiculous, and insulting, and the visits diminished after his fourth shouting match.

Idie and Broo persisted, of course, in keeping him company; which he was grateful for. Of the others, only Robert found that he could fight with him and show up the next day as if nothing had happened; and besides, he was the only one who didn’t seem to despise Quentin for his treatment of Raze.

Of course he didn’t justify Quentin’s actions, but he seemed to be cutting him more slack than the others. One day, Quentin asked him why.

Robert remained quiet for a while, his gaze pensive. He was leaning against the glass, and cocked his head to the side and tapped his staff against the floor a few times. Then he said that he understood. Not only Quentin’s worry, but also what he hadn’t been able to say, what he’d tried to tell Raze without succeeding. About Logan and Daken, about hate and regret.

“I was there, Quentin,” he added. “I was there for most of it.”

Sometimes Quentin forgot that. It had humbled him, in a way; knowing that there was history that he hadn’t lived, that there were things he hadn’t witnessed.

But still, he didn’t wanted to discuss Daken with Robert. He didn’t want to discuss him with anyone.

Idie and Broo had tried more than the others, of course – more insistently, more frequently. Eventually he’d told them to stop, for God’s sake; he wasn’t going to talk about it, he didn’t want to.

Broo had relented with a sigh.

When he’d told Idie, she’d gone very quiet, and looked sad. Looking down at him through the glass, she’d almost seemed to be watching over him. Quentin shuddered as he recalled that broken plea he’d heard in her mind, that plea he hadn’t been meant to hear: _Take care of him_.

Then Idie had sat on the floor, her back to the glass. She’d talked without looking at him, and perhaps it was easier for her to do so. It was certainly easier for him to listen to her without seeing her face, her expression.

“I wasn’t there for you,” she began, “when Evan died. I hadn’t been there for you for a long time before that. When Evan killed Angel, when… when he left, I blamed it all on you. Of course it wasn’t your fault he’d done that,” she hastened to say, “But I was so angry. I didn’t see how it affected you, how his loss was hurting you, how you were doing the very same thing I was doing –”

“Idie, it’s all right,” he murmured tiredly. He didn’t want to think about this, either. “You were angry and you had every right to be, you cared about him –”

“You were my boys.” Her voice cracked. Quentin lowered his gaze from her, but didn’t manage to avoid seeing that her shoulders where shaking. “I thought that if I couldn’t have you anymore, at least you were with him. At least you had each other. And then that happened, and… it seemed to me that if you’d tried harder, then you’d have seen what was happening to him. You’d have stopped it. And I’m s-sorry for that, for _thinking_ that…” She sobbed. She’d never told him any of this. Even when they’d mended things, when she’d started talking to him again, she’d never told him.

He didn’t want to listen to this. It brought it all back, as if his nightmares weren’t doing it already. It was too fresh now, as if it had just happened.

“It’s all right,” he repeated, praying she’d stop. But she wasn’t finished.

“And now I’m seeing you do it _again_ ,” she took a breath, trying to steady her voice, “Torturing yourself over what happened, worried out of your mind, and I can _see_ that you blame yourself for Daken’s decision, that you think you should have done more, and I can’t just stand aside and let you do that. This time, I want to be there for you, Quentin. This time, I want you to know that you’re not alone, and you’re loved, and you can rely on me, and on Broo, too. We’re your friends, Quentin. We’re here for you –”

She overwhelmed him, with her words and her steadfast devotion, with her presence. She was too good for him. He didn’t deserve any of this, any of his friends’ worry.

“So when you’re ready, I want you to know that I’m here, Quentin. Me and Broo. We’re here.”

She sat in silence after that, perhaps knowing he was too overwhelmed to talk now, or perhaps expecting him to, and giving him the necessary time. Either way, he was grateful for the reprieve, and she didn’t insist further, not that day.

He didn’t know if he’d ever take her up on her offer.

 

* * *

 

 

But the choice was taken from him. Eventually, well into January, someone came, expecting answers, and he had no right to refuse.

Laura didn’t go to the observation room, to watch him warily from above. No, she just opened the door to the Danger Room and strolled inside as if he hadn’t hidden there for a reason.

He sprang to his feet. “What are you _doing_ here?” He hadn’t seen her in weeks; the last time he’d talked to her had been before Daken’s arrest.

“I wished to speak with you.” She never gave much of a choice; always so painfully direct.

“You can do it from there.” He pointed up at the glass panel.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She reached him. “I can’t read you from there. Well,” she tilted her head, “I can, but it’s so much easier to be in your presence.” She sniffed delicately and scrunched up her nose at his scent. He ignored it; the gesture hadn’t been rude for rudeness’ sake.

“It’s much more dangerous, though,” he pointed out. She cocked an eyebrow.

“I heal, Quentin. Don’t fuss.” And with that alarming statement, she sat down on the floor. She glanced up at him, apparently refusing to speak until he indulged her and joined her there.

It was true that she could heal, but he didn’t want to test her limits. What if he somehow lost control and –

“Sit. Down.” She patted beside her.

He capitulated. He’d be careful and watch himself, even if the motive of her visit could only be a source of stress for him.

When they were at eye level, she looked away from him, preferring to study the state of the Room. Maybe she meant to give him privacy. “Tell me why there’s no escape plan,” she said quietly.

 _Because your brother is suicidal_ , he thought, his stomach churning unpleasantly. He chased away his latest nightmare.

Did he really want to tell her that? To expose Daken like this? He’d meant to tell Maiko, but perhaps it was for the best that he hadn’t. What good could it do? Daken was gone now, it was too late. It’d only torture his family more.

“You’d have to ask Daken –”

“Don’t.” He would have preferred it, had she shouted. It was much scarier to hear how calm her voice was. “I’m his sister,” she said, her closed fist coming to rest against her chest, “We’re blood. I know him. He wouldn’t trap himself like that without an escape plan, but there’s _none_. None than anyone knows of, anyway, and your reaction –” She turned her gaze to finally look at him, and he saw himself as she saw him, as everyone saw him: a hunched figure, consumed with grief he didn’t want to explain, self-exiled in a room that was taking the worst of his fury, the only saving grace the constant presence of his friends. He was probably scaring everyone to death. “Your reaction,” Laura went softly on, “does nothing to assuage my fear that there’s something else going on here, Quentin.”

He stared back at her. Could it be? Could it be that she’d noticed something?

Could it be that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to be?

“Something else?”

Laura nodded. She sighed, turned slightly her head, something strikingly sad in her gaze. “He’s been talking about his death,” she murmured, “Lately. He had this strong conviction that he had to do everything in his power to prepare the kids for it, to be ready for when he wouldn’t be there anymore. And now this –” She broke off.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She knew. She knew already, maybe not everything, but she knew something, and telling her wouldn’t hurt her more than she already was, because she suspected the truth, or something along those lines. He could tell her and not hate himself for hurting her, because she was already hurting.

“Jubilee didn’t think to ask,” she said, clenching her fist. How that betrayal of her oldest friend must hurt. “She agreed to his plan without worrying about the consequences. Worse, she accepted that there might be casualties. Him, and that girl –” She sighed again, heavily; she returned her gaze to him. “She’s accustomed to this. To us throwing ourselves into danger, uncaring of the consequences, ready to sacrifice ourselves for the good of others. We’re all heroes. But Daken has never been one. For him to do this, for him to put himself in danger like this… and just after what happened with Raze…” She shut her eyes for a moment.

He waited, allowing her the time to collect herself. She was breathing evenly, but her fist was trembling. He had no comfort to give her.

Then she opened her eyes, and looked straight into his soul. “Tell me the truth. He’s punishing himself. He’s punishing himself because of what happened with Raze; there’s no escape plan because he plans on martyring himself to atone for it.”

She was just slightly off the mark.

He told her.

He told her what had happened. He revealed what Daken had confessed; but not what he’d done to the two of them the night before being arrested – he still couldn’t face it, couldn’t face the magnitude of it. He told her about Raze telling Daken that he’d die, so many years ago; about Daken’s refusal to acknowledge any other outcome, so deep was his shame for not saving his child, so sure was he that saving himself would mean betray Raze.

As he talked – as she listened, growing paler with every word – he felt as if a great, terrible weight was being lifted off his chest. It had burdened him for weeks now, threatened his sanity, and now he was lighter. Not completely – but enough.

When he was finished, he dried his tears with the back of his hand. He kept his gaze away from Laura, but it seemed to him that she was doing the same, or that she was touching her face, at least. He didn’t know; he’d give her privacy. They sat in silence for what felt like aeons, and he was comforted by the fact that now someone else knew: someone who’d know, at least a little, what he was going through; whose stakes were as high as his. Idie, bless her, couldn’t give him that. Nor could Broo.

“That stubborn idiot,” she croaked eventually.

That was certainly an understatement, and its matter-or-factness startled him into a hysterical fit, a dark laughter bubbling out of his mouth, his body rocking back and forth as it turned to a wail.

Laura held him through it. She might have joined him, at some point.

 

* * *

 

 

He should have expected that Laura would tell someone else.

She’d agreed not to tell Maiko and Raze, for now – she agreed that it’d only upset them, even if she believed that Raze needed a wake-up call, and quickly at that. Maiko was apparently worried sick. Having seen nir reaction at nir father’s imprisonment, Quentin shared that sentiment.

But exactly because of that, Quentin feared that ne’d think they were trying to guilt-trip nem, and react to that by feeling even more estranged with nir own family.

As for Maiko, she simply had too much on her plate right now, so many things to worry about; and knowing wouldn’t accomplish anything. Daken was gone, and she could only deal with the outcome if she kept her wits about her.

So Laura had agreed, and she’d left.

And the next day, Jubilation showed up, apparently feeling she could just challenge the ban he’d put on her presence.

At least she was smart enough to go to the observation room.

She stood there, her stance martial but too stiff, looking down at him, her eye soft and understanding. He hated that look on her.

Ignoring her wouldn’t work, so he greeted her with two simple, self-explanatory words: “Get out.”

She shook her head. “Quentin –”

“Get _out_ ,” he spat.

“No.” She kept standing there, staring at him, and, as he wasn’t sure if the glass would sustain the damage, he turned and threw flames at the opposite wall. She didn’t get the hint. “Laura told me –”

“I’m _amazed_ she even talks to you.” He kept targeting the wall. There was a silence, he hoped she’d given up, but then she spoke again, her voice tight.

“We did have a heated discussion –”

“Boy would I have _loved_ to see it –”

“- but we talked things through. Now’s not the time to be so fragmented, Quentin. It only benefits them.”

He stopped his tantrum at that, sensing the truth in her words but refusing to acknowledge it. It was too fresh, and too deep.

“We need to stand together, Quentin.”

“Pretty words,” he said quietly, keeping his back to her, “For one who sacrifices her troops.”

Silence, again. Then she spoke. “They made a conscious decision, Quentin.”

“ _No_.” He spun on his heels, stared up at her in fury. “Williams wanted to _atone_ for her parents’ actions. And Daken -” He shook his head. “You should have seen it. You _saw_ it, don’t tell me that you didn’t. They weren’t in the right mind to make that kind of decision!”

“I disagree.” She was paler than her usual complexion, but stood her ground. “We’ve all had to make hard choices, Quentin, you included. We’ve all had to act under duress. And for you to downplay their choices like that –” _You're taking away his agency_. A whisper from the past. “For you to make it all about how upset they were –”

“You don’t get to do that,” he spat. “You don’t get to act all high and mighty. You gambled on their life and tell me, has it paid off yet? Has Williams contacted you in the last month?” he hissed. She clenched her jaw; they both knew the answer. “Exactly. She might be dead. Right now. A corpse. They might both be d-d-” he stuttered to a halt. He couldn’t say it out loud; oh, he could acknowledge it in his dreams, but he still couldn’t say it.

Her gaze softened. “He might not be.”

“Haven’t you said that Laura _told you_?” He squinted his eyes shut; he refused to cry in front of her again. “He’s going to be… _gone_ by next year. He –”

“Whenever have we succumbed to _prophecies_ , Quentin?” she interrupted him, something fierce in her voice. “Whenever have we just given up because someone came from the future and told us that something couldn’t be done?”

And where had that brought them? Always, always to pain. Knowing the future was a curse.

“It doesn’t matter whether we fight.” His voice sounded like a dead thing. “He thinks he’ll die. He offered himself thinking that he’d die there. He caused it. He caused it by putting himself in Colcord’s hands with his broken healing factor. And we let him. And it won’t even achieve anything.” His voice cracked.

“Bullshit.” He jumped, whipped his head up. Jubilation stared down at him, her eye blazing. “Try to think, Quentin. I know you’re worried, I know you’re despairing, I know what you’ve been through the last time someone battled with their so-called future.” She spoke evenly, as if she wasn’t knowingly tearing at him. “But they need him. They won’t put him through something he can’t survive –”

“We’re still talking about torture!”

“He’ll still survive. He’s a fighter, that much is clear to me.” She cocked her head. “I don’t know everything, but I know enough. That man will always rise from the ashes. And when we free the clones – because we _will_ free them – we’ll free him too. You’ll get to see him again, Quentin.”

Didn’t she realize how brutal and unmerciful she was being, setting his hopes up like that, with her pretty picture?

Even if they did free him, in what shape would he be? The longer he was in Colcord’s clutches, the longer he’d suffer. Would he even still want to live, were they to free him? Or wouldn’t he jump into the nearest danger, all to fulfill the future he thought he couldn’t escape?

Could Quentin live with that? With the constant worry that Daken would actively pursue his own death?

He knew he’d stand beside Daken. God, he knew he’d stand beside him until the end…

But such thoughts implied a positive outcome to their current predicament. Quentin gritted his teeth. How dare Jubilation make him even think about this, when they still had nothing, had received no news?

“Come back to me when Williams gets in touch,” he spat, turning his back to her once more. “If she even is still alive. Then I can think about believing you.”

There was a short pause. “She’s alive.”

He froze, not daring to hope. “How –”

“We have eyes on her mutant friends. Something happened that we’d taken into account she’d have to do.” She hesitated. “One of her friends turned up dead a few nights ago.”

His blood turned cold at the implication. He kept still, because he felt the familiar screeches in his ears. “You think she killed her friend,” he choked out, “You expected her to?”

“We thought she’d have to prove she really was the mutantophobe we turned her into.” How couldn’t Jubilation be horrified at herself, at what she was confessing? She’d engineered the death of a person. The death of a fellow mutant.

“Another sacrifice, then.” He couldn’t face her; he feared he’d really test the observation room if he laid eyes on her. “And how many of her friends need to die?”

“No one else, I hope.” Her voice wavered. “They wouldn’t want investigations in that small town. This was just a test, but don’t you see? She’s alive. They let her live, and they’re putting her on probation. Maybe she’s already inside –”

“Excuse me if I don’t share your enthusiasm. A mutant died! Are you taking their job now? Want to make it easier for them, by putting our people down yourself?” He was seething. How could Jubilation have done this? He knew that Daken had it in him to concoct such a plan. But for Jubilation to agree to this? It was plain madness. And she knew it, because she hadn’t still answered. “And I notice you haven’t mentioned this little detail when you were exposing the plan. Maybe because you knew it wouldn’t be well received –”

“ _We’re at war_ ,” snarled Jubilation. The sound was vicious enough that he shut up and whirled around to face her. Her fangs were out. “Do not _think_ , even for a second, that I don’t mourn that boy. That I don’t worry for Williams. That I don’t pray that Daken gets out of there alive.”

“Strange way to –”

“Grow up,” she snapped. “Sacrifices must be made. Yes, I said that, and I believe that. If you think that when push comes to stove I wouldn’t let adults die to save _children_ , you’re sorely mistaken. Children, Quentin, who are living a life of horrors, who must be saved before it’s too late.” She took a step towards the glass; he didn’t know if she was doing it on purpose, but she looked wilder, more imposing. She must be upset; and who wouldn’t be, at the thought of those children? Still – “Anyone with some decency would sacrifice themselves for them,” she added, “I’d do it, if it came to that. I wouldn’t hesitate.”

And now she was trying to make him feel guilty. “Fuck, Jubilation, I’d do that too, but that’s not what happened here. Williams’ friend didn’t get to make that call. He didn’t know what was happening!”

“We’ll remember him,” she said. As if that was enough. And speaking of _remembering_ –

“And Williams? What happens when she remembers?” Once Williams regained her true memories and recalled what she’d been made to do, she’d be devastated. “If she even survives this, that is –”

“She knew what she’d have to do.” Jubilation took another step, stood inches from the glass, her eye aflame. “It’s time, Quentin, that you _get_ this: she _knew_ what she was walking into. _Daken_ knew what he was walking into. And you can’t stay here forever, constantly bemoaning what’s already _done_. You think that Daken would want to know that you sat on your hands for weeks?”

He actually gasped, shocked by her nerve. The walls rattled. “How _dare_ –”

“He’ll need you,” she enunciated, unconcerned with the vibrating glass. “Not a self-flagellating husk; _you_. You need to pull yourself together. If not for your sake, for _his –_ and ours.” She put a hand against the glass, hissed and pulled it away.

He’d burnt her; he stared up at her, too dumbfounded to speak. She shook slightly her head.

“We need you, Quentin.”

She didn’t give him any chance to speak; she simply vanished, having, perhaps, become one with the shadows of the observation room.

 

* * *

 

 

He hoped she didn’t expect him to be immediately won over by her argument.

Because he wasn’t. At first, he seethed with outrage. How dare she? How dare she talk like that, as if he was wallowing in self-pity, as if he had no reason at all to be worried?

_He’ll need you._

She left him alone; she didn’t turn up again.

Days passed.

How could she just stand there and say that a young man had died for the plan?

_Sacrifices must be made._

_I’d do it, if it came to that. I wouldn’t hesitate._

And he knew she would. Much could be said about their fearless leader, but she didn’t hide behind her troops.

Except this time.

 _Daken knew what he was walking into_.

 _You think that Daken would want to know that you sat on your hands for weeks_?

Gashes on the walls. The flames were getting deeper.

No, he didn’t know what Daken would want. Because he’d done this on his own, behind Quentin’s back, telling him only when there was no way to change anything, every piece set. He’d given Quentin no choice.

And he was on his own, and he was probably getting hurt.

And Quentin sat there. On his hands. Doing nothing but vandalizing the Danger Room.

Because the truth was, what could he do? What could he possibly do? His hands were tied. He couldn’t find Daken; their only way of knowing anything was through Jessica Williams.

A dangerous gamble.

Weeks passed.

Hoping she’d turn up. Hoping the monsters let her in on their secrets.

Hoping Daken was being held at the same place the clones were. Because if he wasn’t – if Williams turned up, and gave them intel, and the X-Men came swooping out of the sky to rescue the clones and gather evidence to impeach Edmondson, and Daken wasn’t there – how would they find him?

What could he do but sit there and throw dangerous tantrums and wait, and wait, and wait?

Wait for something. Anything. A sign. A fucking sign.

God, a sign.

 

* * *

 

 

His friends, all in the know, now.

Idie, sleeping in the observation room.

 _You were my boys_.

Broo, sitting up there, quietly working, throwing comments every now and then. So sure this would pass, everything would go as planned.

No mention of Evan. No mention of the future. No mention of that curse.

So sure they’d change its course.

 _I want to. I need to_.

 _I’ll save him_.

_Can I save him?_

_This time I’ll save him_.

Laura, quietly: “He could have told me. Why didn’t he tell me?”

No answer to give her.

She knew the answer.

His teammates, coming back.

(Billy, apologizing. Asking Billy about the moments before the Avengers handed Daken over. Crying himself to sleep, afterwards.)

 _If I’d taken him, if I’d freed him and fled_ –

_No. I’m not doing that. I’m not ever doing that. I’m not taking his choices from him. Not even now._

_Too late, too late._

Waking up, thoughts feverish, flames under his eyelids. Daken’s head crowned in glory, a sigh in Quentin’s ears: “Thank you.”

_He’ll need you._

 

* * *

 

 

Jean’s trial started.

Amazingly fast, but they needed their scapegoat.

And, as he’d imagined, he was wanted.

“They asked for your testimony.” Jubilation was once again looking down at him through the glass.

And the truth was: there was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do for Daken. He was gone, and he’d keep being gone until they found him again.

Until then, Quentin couldn’t do anything else than wait.

But he wouldn’t sit on his hands anymore. He’d start functioning again. Or at least he’d pretend that he could. He’d keep busy, he’d do anything, until maybe he’d stop pretending. Maybe the nightmares would stop. Maybe he’d be sane again by the time they found Daken.

He nodded.

“If you think you can’t handle –”

“I can.”

 _Pull yourself together_.

He’d be there for Daken. He’d be the first to come through the door of his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ As days went by with no news, Maiko felt closer and closer to despair.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiko throws herself into work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're still enjoying the story.

32.

“I know it seems like forever,  
I know it seems like an age,  
but one day this will be over –  
I swear it's not so far away.

And people just untie themselves,  
uncurling lifelines –  
If you could just forgive yourself.”

Florence + the Machine – _Various Storms and Saints_

 

 

As days went by with no news, Maiko felt closer and closer to despair.

She wasn’t naïve; she hadn’t expected results to come soon. She hadn’t allowed herself to. But every day that went by without any, was a day that otousan spent in the clutches of monsters. She couldn’t bear it.

But she’d done as she’d been told. She hadn’t tried to contact the US government, feigning Madripoor’s disinterest in his fate. She hadn’t been contacted, either, to take on his case; there was no talk of a trial. He’d been vanished, and that was it. He’d been vanished, and those who’d taken him expected Madripoor not to say anything.

They knew, probably, that something was afoot; but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what, exactly, was wrong, and so they waited. And Maiko did the same. And in the meantime, she had to deal with everything else.

With the public uproar caused by otousan’s arrest; with the daily discussions regarding Jean’s fate; with the volatile mood of her sibling.

Raze had taken to avoiding her. Ne’d show up to do nir work, ne’d always be present to support Jean when the two women met to elaborate a strategy concerning Jean’s trial; but then ne’d retreat with Charles, dodging every attempt to speak of otousan’s situation.

Still, Maiko saw that ne wasn’t so unaffected as ne’d once been and ne would still have had her to think. Nir display with Phoenix hadn’t been completely artificial: nir tears had been very real, and the reactions prior to that moment hadn’t seemed an affectation. Like it or not, ne was worried, despite the hurt, and Maiko had decided to leave it be for the time being. The most important thing now was not to alienate nem further, so that when the time came – when ne was ready – ne’d be the one to seek her out, and ne’d listen to what Maiko had to say.

She only hoped it would be on a joyous occasion – on the day they received news, perhaps.

But days went by, and still there was none.

 

* * *

 

 

The rumors got so wild that they had to arrange a press conference.

Raze had to stand in front of the world, wearing nir mother’s face, and say that Madripoor had nothing do to with the crime otousan had been arrested for. Ne stood there, a mild irritation coming through nir mannerisms and nir voice; and when, later, Maiko couldn’t stop herself from asking about it, Raze said that it would help to sell their indifference.

As not so long ago ne would have answered by professing nir own, Maiko breathed a sigh of relief. At least this tragedy was shaking Raze’s resolution. She still couldn’t know what was on nir mind – Jean, too, had failed to breach Charles’ walls, or rather, had said that, in order to do it, she’d have to damage the young man permanently – but she was certain ne’d come to her soon.

She was thinking about this, her limbs wrapped around the sleeping form of Chie, when she was startled by a low buzz.

A buzz, she realized as she carefully extricated herself from her partner, that came from the box where she’d put otousan’s cell phone.

She stood and padded to it. The caller wasn’t anyone she knew, the number flashing on the screen one otousan hadn’t saved. She stared as the phone stopped ringing, then began again, without missing a beat. Whoever it was, they were persistent.

And they were calling from Japan.

If they were calling from Japan and knew otousan’s private number, they should be someone otousan knew and trusted.

And yet, they surely knew that otousan couldn’t answer – his face was all over the news. So they were trying to establish a contact; but with whom? With his jailers?

She caught the phone and moved slowly to the living room. It stopped ringing while she closed the door behind her, then started again. She settled beside the windows and then answered the call.

And she was greeted by the deep voice of Kazuro, former head-guard turned into the legendary Ryuujin; the man otousan had trusted would take good care of his business, the man that – Maiko knew – held otousan in the highest esteem.

“ _I hoped it would be you, Maiko-san_ ,” he said quietly in Japanese. She hadn’t known how much she’d missed him until she heard his voice. He’d been a constant, reassuring presence over the years; had often tempered otousan’s moods. Their bond, though never affectionate, had always seemed to Maiko the closest thing otousan could have to having an actual partner. She certainly knew that Kazuro harbored deep feelings for otousan, feelings that bordered on sheer adoration.

Maiko wasn’t blind, she’d learned to be observant very young: a skill otousan hadn’t needed to teach her. And so she’d always known that otousan had never felt the same as Kazuro. To him, Kazuro was just his competent guard, a most trusted advisor, whom he’d fuck from time to time; but then, when everything had come crashing down, even that had stopped. Kazuro had taken more and more responsibilities as otousan crumbled; he’d steadied the business as otousan recovered; had never even tried to snatch the control away from him. And so, when the time had come for otousan to renounce to everything he’d built, Kazuro had been rewarded for his loyalty.

But he hadn’t got everything he’d wanted.

And now he wanted answers. It was a miracle that he hadn’t reached out to her as soon as otousan was apprehended; but he’d probably waited to see what was happening. After all, he had an entire organization to think of, and he couldn’t waste his resources on other things.

But now he’d seen the press conference, and he demanded to know what was going on.

So she told him. She explained the current situation, the plan. He was as shocked as she’d been, but he hid it well, only saying: “ _So it’s fake, then. His involvement with Phoenix_.”

She knew she had to tread carefully. “ _He never used his pheromones on Phoenix. Phoenix looked so devastated because he wasn’t in on the plan; father feared he wouldn’t have agreed and that he’d have tried to stop him. They really are partners, though_.” Kazuro remained silent. It couldn’t be good to know that the man he’d wanted for years had chosen someone else after a few weeks of acquaintance. Truth be told, despite trusting Kazuro, Maiko wondered if such a blow would put Kazuro against otousan; she knew how fragile the ego of men was.

“ _A strange partnership_ ,” said Kazuro, a hint of satisfaction in his voice, “ _if there’s no trust._ ”

Well, that was it. Maybe Kazuro felt he still had a chance; and she wouldn’t rob him of that hope. Even if she’d seen not only the depth of the powerful mutant’s feelings, but also how otousan acted around him.

Then, the triviality of her own thoughts took her breath away. Otousan was in prison or worse, they didn’t even know if he was still alive; and here she was, playing matchmaker.

“ _How’s the situation in Japan?_ ” she asked briskly. She had to keep her act together; she’d use the unexpected call to gather information as well.

“ _There’s mostly incredulity. People can’t believe ‘Akki’ would have done any of that._ ” It pained her that her legacy had been tainted that way, but that was the price she’d had to pay. “ _But hear this_ ,” he added, in a hushed, serious voice that made her straighten her back. “ _There are whispers. Contact being made between the government and an unknown party. I still don’t know much, but there’s talk of weapons. Against mutants_.”

“ _Weapons?_ ” It was her nightmare; the anti-mutants movements had already regained too much power after Election Day, and the situation had only worsened with Jean’s stay in Madripoor, with otousan’s arrest. “ _Of what kind? What is this party?_ ”

“ _I still don’t know_ ,” he repeated. “ _The government has always known who to go to when they wanted to make business with Ryuujin, Maiko-san. Now they’re using that knowledge, and avoiding our people. I need someone new to plant in the government, but it’ll take time._ ”

“ _Time is what we don’t have_ ,” she said. She stared down at the city. Weapons against mutants, being sold directly to governments? If it was happening in Japan, why not all over the world? How long would it take for someone to attempt to wipe Madripoor out? Without the UN seat they were especially defenseless, an independent country only in name. How long before China and Japan and Taiwan attacked the island, wiped down its mutant population, and contended for the spoils of war?

“ _It’s the only thing I can offer you, Maiko-san_ ,” said Kazuro. “ _That, and if there’s anything I can do for Ryuujin, tell me, and I’ll do it_.”

“ _Don’t worry, I understand. You have other things to take care of._ ” She forced herself to say those words, for a part-time ally was still better than none at all.

Kazuro would always remember her and Raze, he would never do anything to directly antagonize Madripoor or otousan; but he was the leader of a criminal organization now, and that took precedence over everything else. He hadn’t commented on it, but the fact that his people were being avoided was surely affecting badly his business.

“ _Watch out for the Hand_ ,” she offered, stricken by a sudden thought. “ _The only reason for not wanting to deal with the Yakuza right now is if they know a mutant leads it – or led it. And the only people knowing that were the Hand. They might be trying to regain power._ ” And it might mean that the mysterious weapon seller was working in tandem with the US, as well. She didn’t like that thought.

“ _I’d already made that connection_ ,” said Kazuro, “ _but thank you. What you told me about their current endeavors certainly worries me._ ”

If the Hand was really attempting a takeover, Kazuro would have his hands full very soon. Before hanging up he took his time to reassure her that he’d come if needed, but they both knew it was empty words.

Still, she saved the number as “Ryuujin”, because she could need it one day.

 

* * *

 

 

When she and Jean finally agreed on a strategy, Maiko contacted the US Attorney General.

It wasn’t much of a strategy; Jean was doomed, and she knew it. They all knew it; the only one still trying to deny it was Charles, who vehemently disagreed with everything, every time, until Jean had to take him to the side and explain to him about duty. She was, firstly and forever, an X-Woman. She’d play her part.

The only thing they’d agreed to focus on was guaranteeing her safety – so that she wouldn’t disappear as otousan – and Maiko spent days carefully negotiating so that Jean’s basic human rights were respected. The Attorney General, though a rampant fascist, wasn’t an idiot, and knew the power of appearances; so he was all too happy to agree to some simple requests once he learnt that Jean was going to plead guilty.

So Jean was handed over to the Avengers – the press went wild – and a court hearing was arranged to inform the appointed judge about the agreement.

And then the appointed judge changed everything.

It was a relatively young woman, and this was her first time presiding over a hearing; no doubt, the Attorney General had chosen her because of that, and Maiko had let him.

Perhaps she was overzealous; perhaps she was secretly pro-mutant rights; perhaps she was a mutantophobe. They’d never know.

She repealed the deal. She said that the Utopia Convention clearly stated that mutants committing a crime related to their powers – which often included vigilantes doing their job to protect civilians – must be tried by the Supreme Court. That point had been much fought for at the time of the Convention: Maiko remembered this well; at the time she was just getting into law school. The argument was that the Supreme Court wouldn’t – _shouldn’t_ – be biased, the judgment balanced out.

In reality, the Convention was rarely called upon. There had been a few famous trials over the years, to some X-Man or the other, but Maiko herself had explained to Jean that such course of action wouldn’t help them. Jean had agreed, since she couldn’t in all conscience pretend that she hadn’t killed those humans. That action had been witnessed by millions of people, live. A real trial could only make things worse for Jean.

But the judge couldn’t be swayed. She was, ultimately, acting as per the law.

And her petition was granted by the Supreme Court.

So now there would be a real trial – and it was out of Maiko’s hands now, as she couldn’t practice in an actual US courtroom.

Jubilation Lee put Jean in contact with Jennifer Walters, and that burden, at least, was finally taken off Maiko’s shoulders.

She welcomed the relief. She had so much to do.

 

* * *

 

 

She threw herself into work.

There was much to be done, and she felt as if the clock was ticking. The island’s defenses must be strengthened, in anticipation of any possible attack; and there were places to build, meetings to set up. The image of the island must be immaculate when she asked for a UN seat.

She must not have time to think.

If she had time to think, if she had time to stop and rest, she’d think about otousan, about his absence. About his past, about the future she hoped he’d have. There was a wall in her mind that she’d carefully built, and if she looked behind those bricks she would be lost.

She worked, worked, worked. Hectic days turned into weeks turned into months; and still there was no news about otousan, and she worked, worked, worked. She’d keep doing it, keep working till everything was perfect, till she was no longer needed. Till Raze was no longer needed. How she longed to turn nem away from all this! She’d done everything, everything, oh, _everything_ wrong.

But she couldn’t think. She mustn’t think. And on and on and on she went, in a whirl of meetings, decisions.

Chie was worried. She tried to keep Maiko in bed, make her sleep, but she couldn’t. She would look at Maiko with hooded, worried eyes and try to speak and then think better of it. Sometimes she clutched at Maiko’s shoulder, squeezed it reassuringly, but in reality it was herself she was reassuring. Maiko lost track of the times Chie told her: “You’re working yourself to death.”

She had said it jokingly over the first month, when otousan was safe at the school and all was going well and then Mystique had shown up and died and everything had gone to hell; but now, now she was serious, she said it with conviction, her voice cracking. She was worried about Maiko and Maiko could only acknowledge it and keep going. She mustn’t stop.

She told her so; oh, they fought. They’d never fought like this, with such fierceness. Chie cried – clung to her with desperation, and Maiko relented; just once. She slept and got up and got back to work.

Rogue, who’d stayed in the tower, witnessed all this, but said nothing. She was more preoccupied with Raze, with Charles. And Maiko was grateful for it.

God, how she hated that she was grateful for it, that she took it as a burden that she was glad Rogue had taken on!

Raze still hadn’t gone to her, hadn’t sat down to face nir feelings; but she saw it, when she met nem: the doubt in nir eyes. The increasing worry. Even, sometimes, the horror shining through. As if ne was thinking: _What have I done? What have I done?_

 _What have_ I _done to nem_ , Maiko would think, and she would grit her teeth and get back to work. _What have I done to this family_ –

She mustn’t think.

 

* * *

 

 

When Jean’s trial came, Maiko kept updated with it the same way as everyone else: through the press.

She wouldn’t bother Jubilation Lee for this; it was out of her hands now. Her only contacts with the vampire were their weekly meetings, where they discussed the situation, and she couldn’t bear to be in the woman’s presence for longer than that.

She suspected that Lee felt the same. There was guilt, on both their parts, embarrassment; a kind of guarded hate. Lee had indulged otousan’s plan; Maiko hadn’t handled Jean’s situation well.

So it was through the press that Maiko learnt of Walters’ strategy. The She-Hulk had apparently convinced Jean to spin the tale: she was guilty, yes; but she’d also been possessed. She took responsibility for her actions, but she pleaded there were extenuating circumstances at place.

It was a legitimate defense, no doubt; one that Maiko hadn’t considered, since she’d been more invested in finding a way to protect Madripoor from the fallout of Jean’s situation. In truth, she hadn’t acted with Jean’s best interest at heart; she almost deserved to be disbarred.

When the day came, Maiko wasn’t surprised to learn that journalists were being allowed into the Court. It was an important case, one that the public felt strongly about.

Walters’ passionate argument was all over the news. She was a stunning orator, one Maiko had always looked up to, and her defense was precisely calibrated, every point drawn home beautifully. She intermingled her speech with subtle reminders that Jean Grey was a hero. In a perfect world, she would have won.

The counterargument was abrasive but not wrong. The points being brought up were the same Maiko had enumerated to Jean. She had manifested an erratic, aggressive behavior far before being possessed. She’d attacked the humans surrounding her _before_ being possessed. She’d attacked Phoenix, bringing the possession upon herself.

She was dangerous. That helmet around her head wasn’t a fashion statement.

It was only natural, then, that the next thing Walters did was calling upon Phoenix’s testimony.

Maiko hadn’t seen the man since his stunt months before, and had sometimes distantly wondered about him. Between the two of them, they hadn’t been coping in a healthy manner, but Maiko supposed she was still saner than him: rumor had it he hadn’t left the school ever since otousan’s arrest, for crying out loud.

So when he left the school to take the stand, it caused an uproar. Outside the court, the crowd went wild. Journalists tried to reach him for a statement but were ignored. He was accompanied by Jubilation Lee, in civilian clothes, and Jennifer Walters, the two women a barrier between him and the world, but they might as well not be there; the crowd might as well not be there. He was looking straight ahead, sported two impressive bags under his eyes, and, if Maiko was not mistaken, appeared to have lost a few pounds.

And then he took the stand.

He wove a tale that traced back to aeons ago, a history of the cosmic force he housed. He had the complete, rapt attention of everyone in the room, of the people watching everything from home. Even two of the Justices looked dumbstruck. He reported what he’d felt when Jean had attacked him, what the Phoenix Force had done to Jean. He said she couldn’t have had more control of it than a baby trying to use a gun. He reminded the Court that bad things happened when one tried to cut it away from its chosen host; he alluded to the infamous Phoenix Five, reminded the world of Charles Xavier’s murder. Scott Summers’ crime was just as Jean’s: something they had done, but couldn’t fully take the blame for.

It would have taken so little, Maiko thought when the man finished, to spin his tale and put _him_ , the current host, to trial; but how could one even hope to exact judgement over a cosmic force?

No, what the prosecutor did was worse. He questioned Phoenix’s credibility.

And he used otousan to do it.

Wasn’t it true that Daken Akihiro had lived in the school, in close contact with Phoenix, for weeks? Wasn’t it true that he’d managed to manipulate Phoenix, Phoenix’s perception? Couldn’t it be that he’d been doing it from the start? When had they begun sleeping together, anyway? Oh, so sorry, he meant when had Daken Akihiro begun raping Phoenix. Oh, just after D.C.? Well, some damning coincidence, wasn’t it now? Wasn’t it possible that Daken Akihiro had something to do with Jean Grey’s –

Everything in the room began shaking.

The world probably stopped breathing in that moment. Maiko certainly asked herself if these were her last moments on earth.

Phoenix was asked if he was threatening the Court.

The telepath, who’d sat grey-faced through the counter-questioning, said that no, of course he wasn’t.

Then what was it with the almost-earthquake, the prosecutor continued. He was a little ashen himself, and Maiko, despite everything, had to admire his nerves of steel.

Phoenix said through gritted teeth that he didn’t like being reminded of his own abuse, and he apologized for having acted out of line.

Abuse. He used that word. Maiko knew how much it must have costed him to say it, to play that part in front of the world. She couldn’t imagine how he felt; it was almost enough to make her forgive him for the damage he’d done to Raze.

It was _almost_ enough; not enough.

Then Phoenix said that the Phoenix Force couldn’t be tricked by something so ridiculously unimportant as pheromones; that when he channeled its powers, his physiology wasn’t human, and so Daken Akihiro couldn’t have manipulated him with his pheromones even had he been at the scene, which he _hadn’t_.

But still, the prosecutor argued, it was undoubtedly true that pheromones could trick – and in fact, _had_ tricked – the perceptions of the Phoenix Force’s human host, so it could be said that everything Phoenix had _perceived_ to be true might as well not be. Especially since Daken Akihiro had been at the scene afterwards.

Thank God he’d abandoned his previous line of questioning, his trying to pin everything on otousan; that ruled out that he was in contact with Malcolm Colcord, but he’d no doubt pay for his mistake soon. There was no doubt that, if the Supreme Court so decided, otousan would be put to trial, and Colcord would be obligated to give up his guinea pig.

If otousan was put to trial –

Maiko shook herself. Otousan had said not to interfere.

Was he even still alive?

God. _God._

She didn’t care when Jean was found guilty and given a life sentence.

Why should she care? Jean was still alive, wasn’t she?

 

* * *

 

 

Someone did care.

Charles, who’d gone awfully quiet for the duration of the trial, turned into a cold, overly polite guest. He didn’t scream, he didn’t rage; he simply stopped addressing anyone if he wasn’t addressed first.

The only exception, as far as Maiko could tell, was Raze. The two half-siblings were basically joined at the hip by now. Who knew what did they talk about, in the privacy of their own minds?

Rogue thought they were up to something. She constantly nagged Maiko, reminding her of her shortcomings and failures, reminding her of the promise she’d made otousan.

There was no need for any of that. Maiko knew she was walking a fine line. She felt trapped. She was drowning, and pushing away the hands that could save her. And she was dragging Raze down with her.

But the island – always, always the island! She cursed the day she’d decided to save it! – anchored her back. The island, damn it to hell and beyond, anchored _Raze_ back. Ne cared deeply about it, it was perhaps the only thing stopping nem from a full-blown breakdown.

She was so good at finding excuses. The truth was that she couldn’t give up. She couldn’t give up, or else she’d have nothing to do; she’d have to retire to her apartment in Japan, alone now, and do nothing, and think. She’d have to think. About otousan, and the damage she’d done to her family.

She’d have to wait for news that she was sure wouldn’t ever come.

Otousan was lost. He was lost –

She. Mustn’t. Think.

 

* * *

 

 

One day – a day like any other – Chie came to her study.

She’d stopped coming to Maiko’s room weeks before. She’d said that she needed time; that she couldn’t watch Maiko do this to herself.

She’d waited a moment before leaving, perhaps waiting for Maiko to say something, to acknowledge the damage. Waiting, perhaps, for Maiko to ask her for help.

Maiko had merely nodded and gotten back to work.

But that had been weeks ago. Now Chie stood in Maiko’s study, her shoulders squared, her hands behind her stiff back.

Maiko made her wait. She was afraid to raise her eyes, afraid to gaze upon the beloved features. Even Chie she’d let down. Even Chie.

Eventually, the file she’d been reading run out of pages. She looked up.

Chie looked straight ahead. It was like a scene from ages past: Maiko remembered how, at the beginning, she’d avoided Chie when her interest had become clear; she remembered how strained Chie had looked like. There was that same line on her forehead now.

“Yes?” asked Maiko, when the silence became unbearable.

“Something’s happening,” said Chie, her voice clipped. “In Japan.”

For a horrified moment, Maiko thought of the weapons Kazuro had told her about.

But it wasn’t that. It was something she hadn’t expected.

It was a small miracle.

 

* * *

 

 

Once, when she was young and idealistic and naïve, safe in her new status as otousan’s daughter, Maiko had made a decision.

She’d protect those who hadn’t been as lucky as her; those who couldn’t protect themselves.

She’d never thought there’d be a reward. She’d done it because it was right. She’d donned a mask, she’d made herself unrecognizable, for that exact purpose.

She didn’t want to be thanked. She didn’t even expect to be remembered.

But the people that she’d saved – young girls, mostly; young boys, women; mutants and humans alike – did remember her. Or better yet, they remembered a mask. And they remembered a name.

 _Akki_.

The hero of Japan.

The name now closely entwined with otousan.

And they were angry – they were furious – that Akki had been vanished. They couldn’t believe – they had no intention to – that Akki had done the things he’d been accused of. And they were adamant – if even he’d done them – that the United States had no rights over him anyway. He was Japanese. Why hadn’t the US handed him over?

They were few, at first. Few enough that even Kazuro hadn’t thought to tell her. He’d talked about disbelief, not about an organized movement.

But now it was a movement. They were angry.

And they were _loud_.

Bring Akki home. Let him be judged by his people. Let his people exact judgment, if it came to that.

Kare wo kaeshite, they shouted. _Return him_.

Watching the march taking place in the streets of Tokyo, Maiko could hardly believe it was happening. They were fighting – abused people, who’d have never dared to step up and reclaim such name; but they were doing it, showing the world their faces, showing their coworkers and neighbors their shame. Maiko had never seen something so fiercely beautiful.

They were fighting for a lie. They were fighting for her, showing her how she’d mattered to them. And they were fighting for otousan. And it wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing, not with the government apparently purchasing weapons against mutants; why should it matter that _one_ mutant was being detained? But it struck her, there and then, it struck her so hard. They were fighting for her. It knocked the wind out of her.

It was only when she felt Chie’s arms around her that she realized she was wailing. It was only when she forced her hands to clutch at Chie’s arms that she realized she hadn’t cried in a long time. She hadn’t cried ever since that day, months ago, when otousan had renounced her.

She hid her face against Chie’s stomach, and sobbed without restraint.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t solve things between them.

It couldn’t; Maiko was too stubborn, Chie too pained. She couldn’t return to Maiko just to witness her downward spiral.

Because Maiko didn’t stop, of course. She took advantage of Chie’s warmth and then, once she’d collected herself, she got back to work. There were things to do.

Chie stood still at her side. She waited at her side. She’d always wait. But that was it.

If anything, the march had showed Maiko that she mattered. That she could make a difference. That she had already made a difference.

And this:

Even if otousan was lost to her forever, at least she had this.

She had a way out for him.

She knew what to do to free him, once the clones were retrieved and Edmondson was taken out of the equation.

She only hoped – prayed – that he was still alive to be saved.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a warm May day.

It had started as every day did, and she was doing what she always did. She was on a tight schedule; she was surveying the paperwork, and later she’d have to brief Raze for a meeting. They were beginning to tentatively approach viable candidates for a possible election. It would take months yet, but they were getting there.

She kept her gaze on her work. She refused to glance at the calendar. She knew what it’d tell her: five months.

Five months of silence.

Lee kept insisting that they were both alive. That Colcord needed otousan, and that Williams must be inside by now. It was only a matter of time.

 _Time_. Five months.

Five fucking months. Maiko realized she was crumpling the file she was reviewing. She relaxed her fingers, tried to smooth the paper.

Maybe, if Jean hadn’t put such a specific trigger in Williams’ mind – remember everything only when she saw a clone in the flesh, and only when she was alone and unmonitored – they wouldn’t have had to wait for so long. Maybe they’d have been contacted far sooner.

She didn’t have the luxury to waste time on these thoughts.

She put the files away. She had a call with Lee scheduled; their usual update meeting, turned into a simple conference call some weeks prior.

Maybe they’d switch to texts soon. Maiko gritted her teeth. Or IMs. Something like: _Nothing yet; and oh, would you mind if we switched to once a month?_

But she was being unjust. The X-Men had enough on their plate as well. Anti-mutant rallies. Mutants disappearing. Jean’s trial had done more harm than good; Maiko wondered if it wasn’t exactly what the Attorney General had wanted when he’d chosen the judge. Perhaps the judge had been in on it. Perhaps they’d all been laughing in the newly rebuilt Oval, when Jennifer Walters had expounded her strategy.

The trial had only showed how volatile mutant powers were.

The holo flickered and Maiko furrowed her brows, not recognizing the caller ID. It certainly wasn’t Lee’s; but the timing coincided, so it must be her. She accepted the call.

But it wasn’t Lee.

Maiko jumped on her seat. The hologram sprouted from her desk like a conjured demon. In front of her was a man heavily scarred, with a nightmarish face. She couldn’t even understand his age, so deeply damaged was the tissue. Was that raw flesh shining through?

“Who are you and how did you get this number?” Her hand flew to her phone, ready to order a complete shutdown of Madripoor’s network.

The man cocked his head. Behind him was a black panel, rendering it impossible to surmise where he was. “My name,” he rasped, “is Malcolm Colcord.”

Maiko’s breath caught in her throat. Every nerve in her screamed at her to ask about otousan. Her blood was hammering in her ears. Oh, she had to be careful. She had to be very careful –

She retreated her hand from the phone.

“A wise choice, dear. Now –” He leaned towards her. “Let’s discuss our options.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Ne didn’t care, dammit!


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed update.
> 
> Truth be told, this chapter took so long to write because I got very discouraged by the total lack of response on the last two chapters. When you work hard in the little spare time you have and all you get is one kudo and no comments at all, you can’t help but wonder if you’re really writing something worth reading. You can’t help but wonder if you should just give up, because it’s obvious your efforts aren’t well received.
> 
> I say this not to guilt-trip anyone into commenting; I understand very well all the little factors that can bring someone not to engage with a piece of writing – anxiety, not knowing what to say. I say this because, as it is, anxiety affects writers too (and damn if I’m not even too much anxious), and while this project is very important to me and I want to see it to its completion, I can’t spend half my spare time worrying over the lack of feedback and the other half writing half-heartedly, because that’d be a disservice to myself, my mental health, this story, and the readers.
> 
> I want to keep writing this story; it may take longer now. I hope you’ll stick with me to the end.

33.

“Past the museum of death  
and the mad man yelling answers,  
I sail on new beginnings  
and psychics taking chances –  
In the cedars like sparks,  
wasting my goddamn time.”

Florence + the Machine – _As far as I could get_

Ne didn’t care.

_Do you think that he deserves to die?_

Ne didn’t care.

_You know, he thinks that you do._

Ne didn’t care, dammit!

Then why couldn’t ne stop thinking about this?

Phoenix had irritated nem, terrified nem. He just couldn’t _stop_ talking about how _much_ he loved father, how _much_ father was suffering, would suffer, _had_ suffered. As if Raze hadn’t! As if the only thing that mattered was father, father and his foolish, scrambling attempt to win Raze back by putting himself in the hands of butcherers. But that wouldn’t work. Oh, Raze wasn’t going to throw nemself back into father’s arms just because of this. Had he thought that Raze would be won over by such a ‘noble sacrifice’? How _little_ did he think of his child?

Why did everyone seem to think so?

Maiko walked on eggshells around nem. She looked at nem as if thinking ne was going to explode, to burst into tears as ne’d faked – as ne’d faked having faked, furious at nemself, yet proud that ne’d managed to turn it to nir advantage, to drive Phoenix away with it.

Maiko kept looking at nem like that, and yet she didn’t say anything, didn’t press the matter. She’d learned her lesson, perhaps.

No one was bothering nem with this anymore. Not even Charlie, who silently stood beside him, whom ne didn’t need words to connect with. Nor aunt Rogue, who’d decided to nag nem and Charlie about Raven instead, and that was annoying enough.

No one was bothering nem anymore. So why, as the days passed, ne found ne couldn’t stop thinking about this?

About father’s voice coming from his cell phone, tightly controlled yet breaking. About Phoenix’s words.

 _He does know_.

Father knew what it was like to be vivisected?

About nir callous response, _That doesn’t concern me_.

And it was true: it didn’t concern nem; it had nothing to do with anything; it didn’t negate, _delete_ all the harm father had done. Why did Phoenix act like it did, like nothing father had done mattered, just because he’d maybe suffered a little bit in the past? He had to suffer now. He had to pay _now_ , so that Raze would see it, know it. So that ne knew that justice had been dealt.

But torture at the hands of a scientist wasn’t justice. It was what it was; ne should admit it to nemself. That man, Malcolm Colcord, hadn’t taken father because he knew of his crimes and wanted to make him pay; he’d taken father because it suited him. He’d taken father because father could be useful to him.

Malcolm Colcord was the man behind the clones; he wasn’t delivering justice, he was pursuing a profit.

And father had put himself in his hands in order to win Raze back.

And he thought that Raze wanted him dead. Don’t forget that. He didn’t think that Raze wanted him to pay, would never forgive him, hated him, didn’t want to ever speak to him again; those were good things. Those were _just_ things, things ne’d said, things ne had every right to feel and have said.

No, he thought that Raze wanted him dead.

Why, why couldn’t ne stop thinking about this?

Why couldn’t ne stop fearing that it’d happen – an accident, like Phoenix had said. A torture session, drawn out for too long. His healing factor was defective –

Why couldn’t ne stop thinking about this?

Ne’d meant prison. Ne’d meant – ne didn’t know what ne’d meant anymore.

Why couldn’t ne stop thinking about this?

 

* * *

 

 

At least ne had things to do.

So many things to do. Ne had an island to run, after all. Nir presence was often requested; and then ne had training with Charlie, and ne was ambushed by aunt Rogue, and they all met together with Maiko and Jean sometimes. Jean had decided to follow Maiko’s plan, and no amount of begging on Charlie’s part would change her mind.

And then there was the press. They were persistent, asking about Jean almost daily. It was partly because of that, ne supposed, that Jean was going along with the plan.

It wasn’t the only thing that the press asked about. The days following father’s arrest had been so wild that Maiko had had to arrange a press conference, where Raze had taken Raven’s face and basically renounced father in front of the world.

Ne didn’t know how ne’d managed to keep collected, to show disdain. Charlie had lent nem strength, at some point. Despite everything, ne didn’t want to stand there and publicly abandon father. Even if ne hated him – ne didn’t know, ne didn’t know what ne felt – even if ne never wanted to speak to him again, ne didn’t want this. This was a punishment of a different kind, as if they were throwing father into the streets.

But ne’d done it. And later ne’d lain awake, listening to Charlie’s quiet breathing, and asked nemself what the hell ne was doing. When had it come to this? When had it all turned into this mockery, this nightmarish play? Ne’d only wanted to save the island, nir mother’s legacy. Then Raven – she wasn’t nir mother, she wasn’t the woman ne remembered – had shown up. It had all unraveled because of her, because she couldn’t listen. Ne’d woven a web of lies, had dragged Maiko with nem, and when it had all come crashing down, when father’s own betrayal had been revealed – ne had lost it.

The things ne’d said!

They were true, but now father was alone, and the last thing Raze had told him was that ne hated him.

It was true that ne did, but now father was alone, and he was probably being tortured, and Raze had told him he should pay for his crimes.

And yes, it was true he should pay – but not like this. Not like this. He should pay on nir terms, and nir terms alone.

Too bad ne didn’t even know what those terms should be. Ne only knew that taking Madripoor’s support away from him had felt like a betrayal, and even if some part of nem still screamed about his crimes, there was a little kid in the back of nir mind, a crying kid being lulled to sleep by tankas.

 

* * *

 

 

Maiko’s plan backfired.

Jean was taken away from her, put into someone else’s hands: Jennifer Walters, the She-Hulk, she that showed up every time a superhero needed a lawyer. She didn’t have a good track record with mutants.

Maiko shrugged it away with ease. She seemed almost relieved that she didn’t have to deal with Jean’s case anymore. True, Jean had put Madripoor in a difficult situation, but wasn’t it callous of Maiko to just get back to work, as if she hadn’t ever even spoken to the telepath?

But Maiko looked… tired. Deadly tired, and that was why Raze didn’t ask her such questions, why ne kept Charlie from doing the same. Ne knew she was working so much, that she was the only reason the island still stood; but ne hadn’t thought about what that would mean for her. Had ne taken her for granted? Had ne taken her presence, her skills, her will of steel, for granted?

Wasn’t she human? Couldn’t she break?

Ne wanted to sit beside her, take her hands between nir own and tell her to stop. Ne wanted to tell her that she was working too much, that they’d manage to run the island even if she took a break from time to time.

But ne feared sitting beside her. Ne feared her worried glances. Ne feared having to face what ne was coming to terms with; ne feared she would make nem talk.

So ne did nothing. Ne did nothing, and watched her wilt from a distance; saw, too, the distance forming between her and Chie.

When had it all gone so horribly wrong? What was becoming of nir family? Estranged, apart. Ne clutched to Charlie as if to a lifeline. Charlie was easy to be with, easy to just lay quietly beside, no need to fill the silence. Their thoughts drifted, morphed together, dulled. A medication for the pain.

Sometimes Charlie’s mind jerked away from nem, but a look from Raze was enough to make him return.

Like a leash, ne supposed. A leash for nir half-brother. A notion Charlie did nothing to dissuade, when ne lazily thought about it; he’d just come closer, allowing them to merge.

Charlie was nir. Nir, and only nir.

The only family ne had left.

 

* * *

 

 

Jean was given a life sentence and Raze watched Charlie change before nir eyes.

He pulled away more often, brooded in their room. He put up a mask in front of Maiko, a mask ne could see right through. He was angry, of a cold, dull anger. But he said nothing, _did_ nothing to Maiko; maybe out of love for nem? Ne didn’t know. He certainly knew that if he did something to Maiko, Raze would stab him as easily as ne’d cut through Creed’s flesh. Ne’d hate every second of it, but ne’d do it all the same.

 _Don’t be ridiculous_ , Charlie told nem one evening, as Raze worked out in the gym. _I’d never do anything to hurt you_.

 _We took you in_ , pointed out Raze. _You shouldn’t want to harm Maiko because she took you in, not because she’s my sister and harming her would hurt me._

 _I don’t want to harm Maiko_. Charlie sighed. He retreated, came back. Like the tide. _I only want to save Jean._

_She said –_

_I know what she said._

He’d even showed nem as it happened. She’d said it was her duty. She’d said she had to pay. Like father, in a way. She had done nothing as terrible as him, but she’d said she had to pay.

 _And she’s wrong._ Charlie retreated. Raze kept working on nir routine. Charlie came back. _You think this will work. This cooperation between humans and mutants._ He paused; Raze waited, stood still in nir position, the back of nir neck tingling. Charlie was behind nem. _They hate us._

 _Madripoor will hold_ , ne said, because it was the only thing ne could say. Ne hadn’t sacrificed everything just to see it all shatter.

 _Until it won’t. Until it all breaks and we’ll need everyone available._ He was referring to the anti-mutant weapons apparently being sold; to the clones; to the tension growing in many countries.

Not in Madripoor. Never in Madripoor. The truce held. Mutants and humans coexisted.

_Until they won’t._

Charlie vanished, truly vanished.

And

He’d never truly left before, he’d always been there, at the brink of Raze’s mind

and now Raze was left alone, alone in the darkness of nir own mind,

struggling to stay on nir feet, struggling to

breathe.

Struggling not to think. Ne needed

the tide, needed something to keep

father’s face

away.

Father’s voice, cracking, chanting, whispering

horrifying truths.

 _I have a plan_ , Charlie returned, and Raze gasped, fell back into the water, into Charlie’s soothing presence. A hand pressed to nir shoulder, steadied nem. _To free Jean. Just in case something happens._

 _Just in case something happens_ , ne agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

In case something happened, they had a plan.

Charlie had gotten the idea from aunt Rogue. She’d told them about Raven’s group of old, the “Brotherhood of Evil Mutants”. It was a ridiculous name, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the core idea: a group dedicated to fight for mutant rights, by any means necessary. A group dedicated to do what the X-Men, that even now were on the side of the law, would never do; like, for example, breaking out of prison mutants that had been unjustly sentenced.

So they’d form their own Brotherhood. And if something happened – if the world truly came crashing down around them – they’d break Jean out of prison.

Who knew, maybe they could even break father out of prison.

It was an idle thought, but it knocked the wind out of nem. It didn’t mean that ne forgave him, ne thought vehemently; it only meant that ne wanted him to pay on nir own terms.

What were those terms, again? Ne’d never thought about them. Not in months.

 _Have you given any thought to this?_ Phoenix had pressed. Aeons ago. _Have you stopped being angry for a moment, and really thought about it_?

Ne hadn’t. Maybe because it meant facing the fact that father had to be alive for him to pay anything. And if ne thought about that, if ne really did, ne’d have to face the fact that he might not be alive after all. Months had passed, and still there was no news.

So, there ne was, then. Trapped in a gleeful illusion. Father was alive, and he’d pay soon. On nir terms. Whatever they were.

While ne struggled, Charlie did the rest. He broke into Madripoor’s records and selected citizens who could help. He reviewed thousands of applications and personal files. It took weeks; he was thorough, and he managed to dug up information from other countries as well. There wasn’t shortage of material; almost every citizen of Madripoor had a hidden past. But it turned out that none could hide it so well that Charlie couldn’t find anything.

Eventually Charlie came up with two names. The best the island could offer.

A retired mercenary and a former child-hero. The mercenary, Wade Wilson, had been living on Madripoor for years now; the latter, named Molly Hayes, had moved to the island more recently, after “Mystique”’s takeover.

According to their files, they would be useful assets. Raze and Charlie were still deciding how to best approach them, though, when the news came that wiped the two away from nir mind.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a day like any other.

Ne was supposed to meet with Maiko, to discuss possible candidates to run for office once “Mystique” retired, but before ne could get to her study ne was intercepted by a human guard, who told nem that Maiko was busy with a meeting and that she would call nem as soon as she could.

Raze shrugged and went back to nir room, where Charlie awaited nem. They were still unsure on what to do. Charlie advocated for approaching Wilson and Hayes immediately, to secure their cooperation, while Raze suggested to wait and see how the situation developed. Charlie was sure that there was only one possible development, that soon some nation or the other would strike; Raze was more optimistic. They were protected, the island’s shields held; no attack would go unnoticed, and would still give them ample time to contact the two mutants, while giving off a sense of urgency that would certainly force them to join the Brotherhood, even if they were retired.

Charlie often said, and Raze was unsure of how jokingly he said such a thing, that even if they refused, he could probably manage to control them telepathically.

Ne really wasn’t sure of Charlie’s intentions there. Sometimes he gave the vibe that he could truly do that. Oh, of course he probably _was_ able to do it; Jean had often said that he’d quickly grown to control his powers. But _could_ he really do it? Could he take the mind of another human being and bend it to his will? Was it really in him to do such a thing?

Raze didn’t know. Ne guessed that Charlie was motivated enough. Then again, Raze was no one to judge. Ne’d done other “unspeakable” things, after all.

So they were in nir room when Chie contacted Charlie some hours after nir scheduled meeting with Maiko, and told him that they should both get to one of the conference rooms.

They went.

As they approached the room ne scented it was really crowded, and, upon coming within a few yards, ne bristled with irritation. Phoenix was there _._

Ne had no intention to see him, but there must be a reason for him to be there.

 _I’ll protect you from him_ , whispered Charlie. Raze wondered how much Phoenix could hear of their shared thoughts. _He doesn’t really do that_ , said Charlie. _He doesn’t listen in. At least, I’ve never seen him try. But I’m sure I can stop him_.

While Raze wasn’t that confident, it was nice to know ne was protected from the volatile man.

Inside was, indeed, crowded. It was the biggest conference room, the one they’d used for their first meeting with the X-Men, so many months ago; when they’d revealed that Raze stood in Raven’s stead.

On one side of the room stood Phoenix, accompanied by Jubilation Lee, Colossus, and Iceman. Half of their strike team; of course they wouldn’t let the school unguarded, not with the current situation. Phoenix looked pretty subdued, different from the last time ne’d seen him; he seemed resigned. He’d looked like that at Jean’s trial, too; like he was merely going along with everything, like he was shell-shocked.

Well, Raze supposed that he was.

When ne came in, Phoenix glanced at nem and then hastily averted his gaze. He risked a glance towards Maiko and then looked away again, but Raze wasn’t paying attention to him anymore – nor to anyone else – because now ne’d seen nir sister.

She sat at the table. To anyone who didn’t know her, she would certainly appear cool and collected; but her back was rigid, her shoulders tense. Her hands, folded in front of her, were caught in a tight grip. Behind her, Chie, too, looked worried. And it wasn’t the same worry that had been showing on her forehead for weeks; this was something else.

Raze reached the two women in a few quick steps, followed by Charlie. What was happening?

Maiko’s heartbeat was wild. She gave nem a tight smile, then gestured for nem to sit beside her. “Good, you’re here. We can begin.”

As ne sat down, ne searched Maiko’s face. Had she always sported so many wrinkles? She was still so young! She was working too much. Why had ne permitted her to work so much?

What was happening?

Ne looked around. The X-Men were sitting down; now ne saw that they’d been joined by aunt Laura and aunt Rogue. On the other side of the table were – ne almost did a double take.

Maiko had invited Kazuro. The guard – no, he wasn’t father’s guard anymore – Ryuujin himself had come. Ne knew he had contacted Maiko some time ago, to warn her; but this was the first time ne saw him in months. Ne was almost brought back to other times, older times. Simpler times.

Ne wanted to come back to those times.

But it was impossible; and here was Kazuro, sitting down, accompanied by other men Raze had known from infancy, all trusted guards, whom, ne supposed, now formed Kazuro’s inner circle. They sat, and while they were more controlled than the X-Men, whose curiosity was plain on their features, they, too, seemed in the dark as to the reason of the meeting.

Ne turned to look at Maiko; she gave a tiny nod to herself.

“Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming here on such a short notice,” she began.

Even her voice betrayed her agitation to nem; the others, maybe, didn’t notice, but they soon would.

Maiko motioned towards Kazuro. “This man is here under my protection, and won’t be harmed. He leads the Yakuza, and he can be trusted with the matter at hand.” She looked at Lee, as if daring her to contradict her. The vampire seemed taken aback by the piece of information - at their first meeting, she’d professed that father was tied to the Yakuza, to convince Jean that they couldn’t work with him. She must have considered such a thing reprehensible.

But now the times had changed. She regained her aplomb soon enough, and asked Maiko: “And what would the matter at hand be?”

Ne silently thanked her for the question. Maiko took a shuddering breath – a sound so low that only Raze managed to hear it – and then proceeded to tear the world apart.

“Earlier this morning I was contacted by Malcolm Colcord.”

Dropping a bomb on the table would have shocked them less. Even in nir numb state – nir mind had gone curiously blank, but still ne felt Charlie’s presence – ne could see that everyone in the room was affected by the news.

Colcord had contacted Maiko. Why? Was father-?

They were talking all at once, asking questions, Phoenix the louder of them all; there was a bright manic light in his eyes, a hint of darkness. He was the only one standing, though.

Was father-?

No he _wasn’t_. He couldn’t be.

Kazuro looked no less shaken. It was strange to see the usually collected man so upset, but his companions were equally vocal. Father was well loved. He’d always been well loved by his men, always immensely respected.

What did ne feel? Ne didn’t know. Ne was about to receive news about father, probably, and ne still didn’t know what ne felt. Ne was angry. Upset. Relieved. Worried.

Ne didn’t know what ne felt.

Aunt Laura’s fists lay on the table, closed so tightly that her nails scratched her skin – ne could scent her blood. She asked no questions, but she ached to.

What did ne feel? Ne didn’t know. Ne didn’t know.

What would ne hear? What was Maiko about to say? Why would Colcord contact her if not to tell her that father was –

 _Calm down. Relax. I’m here. We’re all here_. Charlie’s soft voice warmed nem, tied nem to the earth.

Nir muscles loosened, ne let go of nir thighs. Ne hadn’t even noticed that ne’d grabbed them so hard, that ne’d dug nir fingers so deep into nir own flesh, that ne’d drawn blood.

There was a lull; a moment of silence in the cacophony. Maiko used it to urge them all to shut up and let her speak. They all obeyed; only Phoenix persisted, his voice an endless litany. “ _Is he okay_ ,” he was asking, over and over again, “ _Where is he, is he okay_ ,” over, and over, and over again. Raze felt nauseous. Maiko didn’t seem to be able to answer, her face a pale mask that would soon shatter to the ground. No, father wasn’t okay, and that was getting clearer by the minute. Raze stumbled to nir feet.

“Shut the fuck _up_ and give her the freaking _time_ to answer,” ne shrieked. Nir voice sounded so different to nir ears, so strange. As if coming from someone else. But Phoenix started, and looked at nem, and stopped his frantic questioning, and fell back into his chair with a low _thud_.

Silence, again. Raze took a shuddering breath and sat down. Nir gaze, ne kept on the table. Ne didn’t want to acknowledge nir own rising panic; ne didn’t want to acknowledge that maybe ne really _was_ worried. That maybe ne really _was_ terrified.

Maiko spoke – her voice was tightly controlled. Ne focused on that. Ne’d make sense of her words later. Later, when ne was alone. When ne couldn’t make a spectacle of nemself.

Breathe. In, out. In, out.

“He contacted me through the number I gave to administrations around the world. His surroundings were nondescript, useless to gather information as to his location.” Stalling. She was stalling. _Breathe_ , ne told nemself. In, out. In, out. “He was smug. He thinks he got us figured out; he even let out some secrets of his own, to brag. They _let_ Elizabeth Garner take a clone.” There was some confusion as the X-Men spoke all at once, but ne focused on Maiko’s heartbeat, on Charlie’s presence. On nir breathing. In, out. In, out. Silence restored, Maiko continued her tale. “Apparently, they’d discovered her videos. She was reckless. It happened just after otousan came to the school; she was furious, she wanted to hurt the clones, and she didn’t pay attention and so she was caught. And instead of punishing her, they gave her a _mission_. Because it suited them well. They thought that unleashing her, letting you find the clone, maybe letting you find her pen drive – that it would prompt you to action. They lay a trap, expecting to catch Laura, or otousan, expecting you to attack them head on –”

“They think they could catch me?” growled aunt Laura. Ne didn’t think ne’d ever heard her so angry. She gave off waves of frustration and pure, terrifying rage. Like a feral animal. Ne whimpered: an automatic response for anyone who could scent her.

“I think it would be better not to underestimate them,” said Maiko. “He wasn’t just bragging; he was letting me know he’s everywhere. He was letting me know that we played right into their hands, that he has all the cards and then more. He was letting me know that he’s got more to come and we can’t do anything.” Exhaustion came through her words. She was giving up? She couldn’t give up!

“Let him,” snarled Lee. “Just let him. We’re here. We’ll stop him.”

 _I’ll raze him_ , ne thought. _I’ll annihilate him_.

“Did he make threats?” asked Kazuro. “We’re here for a reason, aren’t we? He didn’t call you to simply lower your morale.”

 “He wanted to bargain,” said Maiko; it was clear to nem that she was fighting to keep her voice monotone. But bargaining? That made no sense. What could Colcord possibly –

 _Father_. The thought was so virulent that it left Raze breathless.

“Bargain,” repeated Lee. “What does he –”

“Did he say anything about Daken?” interrupted Phoenix. He had no regard for anything and anyone, blind and intensely focused on one thing and one thing only. The world could burn all around them, but he’d ask about father instead of trying to extinguish the flames.

Maiko’s heartbeat accelerated. Phoenix had a point; Colcord had certainly said something about father, and Maiko couldn’t bring herself to bring it up.

And when she did manage to speak, the cracks in her voice were manifest to everyone in the room.

“They don’t need him anymore,” she said, and for a long, horrifying moment ne thought that next she’d say ‘ _He’s dead_.’ Phoenix held his breath, likely thinking the same. The table shook with the force of the man’s telekinesis. “Colcord took great pleasure in assuring me that otousan was as useful as he’d hoped. He thanked me for giving him to them,” she broke off, her breath labored. No one dared speak, save for Phoenix, of course.

But maybe, hadn’t he said anything, Raze would have done it.

“Is he –?” Phoenix couldn’t end the sentence. Raze ended it in nir mind. _Is he dead?_

Ne didn’t want him to be dead. Ne didn’t –

Oh, god damn it all. Ne didn’t want him to be dead.

“He’s alive,” she said, and despite the flood of relief, ne heard the undercurrent in her voice, the dark unspoken words: _It’d be better if he was dead_.

But Phoenix hadn’t heard it. Ne let out a sound of abject relief – a violent, ecstatic sob.

Then he laughed. There was a touch of hysteria in the sound – it was mildly worrying, in fact – but the joy reverberating through it was gut-wrenching.

Raze wished ne could be just as carefree and happy at the news. But ne’d heard the waver in Maiko’s voice, and ne waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Quentin.” Aunt Laura, that must have heard the same waver, snapped Phoenix back to reality. It was impossible to misunderstand the quiet force behind her simple use of the name, and the man’s laughter died in his throat.

Raze risked a glance back up. Ne didn’t want to face the tumult in nir mind, but ne had to.

He felt Charlie’s approval, washing off nem like a warm caress.

Phoenix looked caught up in a frozen tableau, a smile still on his lips, his cheeks wet with tears; he was pale and broken and glad and terrifying.

Aunt Laura was just as pale, but her expression didn’t mirror the man’s. She looked resigned. Worried; her head slightly tilted towards Maiko, her eyes half-closed in encouragement or self-preservation.

Maiko: a study in gradually shattering self-control. Her hands were so tightly entwined together that her knuckles were white. Her heartbeat was a mess; her breathing just as erratic.

Behind her, Chie looked calmly on, with the steadfast devotion of the captain of a sinking ship.

Ne couldn’t see Charlie, but ne felt his presence, his blessed presence.

This was nir family, ne supposed. Yes, even Phoenix. Nir family, united by this – this unspoken thing that Maiko still hadn’t uttered. The others were merely witnesses. Bystanders.

“Colcord was amused,” said Maiko, “by _Kare wo kaeshite_. He thought it was – he thought it was our way to get otousan back. I did think about it,” she let out a sob, “I thought I could use it to get him back, but I’m not behind it, no one is behind it. But Colcord thinks otousan let himself be arrested to gather information, and that we left him there to do that, and that now we’ll use the movement to get him back so that he’ll tell us what he found out. And he was so amused –” She broke off again. Chie squeezed her shoulder and Maiko let her.

“So Williams is safe?” said Lee. Her eye shone with concern, but that was the only outward sign of any regard she might hold for father; she was focused on the mission, still. “They didn’t realize –”

“Or he wants you to believe that they didn’t,” said Kazuro. He was ashen, but spoke steadily. “He might have understood your plan; he might be playing with you.”

“Who _cares_ ,” snarled Phoenix. “Daken. What did he say about Daken?”

 _Who cares?_ So he didn’t care about the clones, either? Some kind of hero he was.

How could he stand there and dismiss father’s sacrifice like that?

“Like I said, he was amused.” Maiko spoke tiredly. “He’s willing to give otousan back –”

“When?” said Phoenix, urgency in his voice. “Where? When -”

“Quentin, calm down.” Aunt Laura raised a hand and Phoenix stopped, clenched his jaw. He looked around, incredulous. He didn’t get why no one else was as excited as him, he didn’t get why they weren’t all jumping at the opportunity. He was completely tone deaf, single-mindedly focused on the piece of news they’d all expected for months, and he couldn’t see that there was something wrong. There ought to be a catch; even if Maiko hadn’t sounded so scared, Raze would have thought it all the same. There was a catch. Colcord wanted something.

And he was discarding father like something he didn’t need anymore, like an old, worn-out shoe, like a pet he’d gotten tired of.

That was the most worrisome part.

That, and the fact that, if he intended to give father back while thinking father had been spying on him, that meant that he didn’t think that father _could_ say anything of use. Because he’d been kept isolated – or because he couldn’t talk?

“He’s willing to give otousan back, but he wants something in return.” Maiko took a breath. “He wants a coup. He wants… He wants Eike to depose Mystique.”

Her words fell on a stunned silence. In a way, this made things easier for them; Mystique was no more, had never even been there; the “coup” would be smooth. On the other hand –

“Why?” asked Lee, voicing nir very same thoughts. “What does he gain by that?”

“He didn’t certainly share his plans with me.” Maiko pinched the bridge of her nose. “I _think_ he thinks that Raze would be more malleable, a puppet, due to nir young age. Edmondson probably wants chaos, a difficult situation he could test the clones on. Or maybe he’s simply looking for an excuse to send the army on Madripoor soil –”

“Let him,” said Raze. They all looked at nem. Ne shrugged. “What? It’s perfect. He wants chaos? He wants to lay waste on _my_ island?” Ne bared nir teeth. _He won’t. Not after what I’ve sacrificed, what we’ve sacrificed._ “He won’t, but he won’t know that until it’s too late, and by that time we’ll have papa back.”

Maiko’s breath caught in her throat, she half-smiled despite how incongruous it looked in a time such as this. It took nem a moment too long to realize that ne’d just admitted the defeat; that ne’d just shown that ne cared.

Ne didn’t care. It wasn’t important. Ne wanted father back. Ne wanted to be able to scream at him in the comfort of their home, ne wanted to be able to hit him and hate him and ignore him at will. Ne wanted him to be there.

“The plan was –” hesitantly began Lee, but aunt Laura cut her off.

“The cards have been dealt. If it works, Williams will contact us sooner or later. But Daken doesn’t need to be there anymore. He’s never _needed_ to be there.” There was a pang of pain in her voice; she exchanged with Phoenix a heavy glance, that seemed laced with hidden meaning. “And if we can get him back –”

“At the price of giving Colcord what he wants? We don’t even know what he means to do -”

“This doesn’t concern you. This concerns Madripoor.”

“You invited us here for a reason.” Lee crossed her arms.

“We’re allies.” Maiko met the vampire’s stare. “I’m informing you. But ultimately, it’s our decision.”

“Why do his bidding?” Lee shook her head. “This is insane. Let’s discuss –”

“There’s nothing to discuss!” Maiko slammed her palms on the table. It was so sudden, so out of place. So unlike her.

It scared nem.

Lee opened her mouth, closed it. Then she said, softly: “Why?”

Maiko clenched her fist, half-turned her head. Her heartbeat was wild, her eyelids heavy.

The hair on the back of nir neck rose.

Kazuro spoke. His voice was soft, his words terrible. “He did threaten. He threatened to harm Ryuujin if you don’t do as he says. Am I right, Maiko-san?”

Was he right?

Oh, the nerve of the disgusting man. Raze would end him. Ne would _end_ him.

“Is he?” demanded Phoenix, the strength of the question not at all diminished by the way his voice shook. “Maiko, did Colcord threaten Daken?”

“We have to get otousan out of there,” said Maiko, her voice small and tired and outright terrified.

She hadn’t really answered.

She didn’t have to.

Raze would end Colcord. Ne would take him and bend him and do what ne wanted with him, ne would tear him to pieces and feed him his own entrails. Ne would hurt him, ne would taste his blood –

 _Stay focused_ , said Charlie, as if from far away. _Don’t lose yourself_.

Raze came to, and the room was spinning around him, there was a tremor of the air itself. It was Phoenix’s doing: the man held an ugly, terrifying grimace, a mask of sheer fury.

Aunt Laura put a hand on his arm, spoke quietly. Phoenix’s eyes were an eerie onyx surface, flashing with blinding white, like lighting during a storm. He blinked and they were normal again, but his expression was still the stuff of nightmares.

“You saw him,” he said, his voice rough. Startled, Raze looked back at nir sister, saw her shrink. “Didn’t you? Colcord _showed_ him to you. Didn’t he?” If possible, his face contorted even more. He looked like a monster.

 _He looks like I probably looked like when I ended the animal_.

He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a fearsome warrior, like angels should look. Wings of flame and an aspect too eerie, too _other_ , to look upon.

His teammates were nothing, next to him.

And this force of nature stood beside father.

This force of nature was on his side. On their side.

“You think I’d have called you if I hadn’t been sure?” asked Maiko from behind the curtain of her hair. “You think I’d raise hopes like this, if I wasn’t sure he was still alive, if I hadn’t seen him, if I hadn’t t-tried to –” She let out a sob; Chie squeezed her shoulder again.

And they all waited, waited for her next words. For a description, for a false reassurance, for something; but nothing came.

“How –” Phoenix trailed off, suddenly hesitant; it was obvious what he was about to ask. Raze nemself wanted to; ne wanted to know, wanted to _see_ , if ne could; ne didn’t want Maiko to shoulder whatever she had witnessed alone.

But Maiko kept her head lowered, didn’t answer; and Raze found nemself wanting to shake her, wanting to tear answers out of her.

Ne looked around: no one was going to do that; they were too respectful for that. Even Phoenix had found an ounce of self-control and was hanging on to that, not wanting, perhaps, to estrange them further after his stunt of so many months before; but Raze had no such qualms.

“How did he look?” ne asked. Maiko took a shaking breath, but didn’t answer. Raze leaned towards her, took her hand between nirs. “Maiko. How did he look? Did you speak with him? How did he look, where are they keeping him, did he look –” _whole_. Did he look whole? Was he whole? What had they done to him? Did he bear the signs?

Maiko shook her head. “Colcord counts on that,” she whispered, “He was sure it’d be the fuel to make you do what he wanted, to turn you against your mother –” She wailed. She was almost rocking back and forth and ne put a comforting arm behind her shoulders. “He said, he laughed, no son would leave his father like that, that you’d have to choose between abandoning him and harming your own mother. He’d do that to you!” Her breath was labored. At least that choice ne’d already made, but it was clear that upset Maiko even more. And clearer still was the fact that Colcord was even too invested in making their family suffer. Maiko gasped for breath, then continued: “He wanted me to call you to make you watch, I refused, he told me to make you watch, but how can I, how can I -?” She sobbed.

“He told you to make me watch-?” ne repeated slowly, her wording baffling. Maiko stiffened and ne knew ne’d sniffed the right trail. “You have something, don’t you?” Ne straightened nemself, held her hand tight. “Something you can show us. He sent you something, or you recorded…?”

Ne felt the stir nir words caused; even without looking at Phoenix, ne knew the expression of terrified eagerness that the man surely wore, because it was the very same thing that Raze felt, and that, ne was sure, showed on nir face.

There was something. Something to see, to study, perhaps to agonize over. A tangible proof of father’s survival, of his resilience.

Something that could put nir mind to rest. So that ne could return to that merciful state of being ne’d settled on, this time with the confirmation that father truly was alive. Raze could still scream at him. Talk to him. Hate him, knowing he was safe. Once he was back home.

He’d return home.

“I recorded part of the call,” said Maiko, a deadness to her voice. “Then I threatened to go public, when –” she fell silent, spoke again. “He said to go ahead, he didn’t even care that Edmondson would fall with him. He said that he has plenty of compounds around the world, that… that otousan can’t s-survive a relocation –” She was crying, ne knew that: ne scented her tears, heard her little gasps. She kept her head lowered, though. Hiding from them all. Ashamed of herself.

Ne held her tight, as she’d so often done with nem. Their roles, reversed.

Ne should have acted sooner. Ne’d left her alone, and now she struggled because of nem. She’d wanted to protect nem, but ne didn’t need protection anymore.

Ne hadn’t for a long time.

A voice disrupted the silence.

Phoenix, of course.

“Can I see…?”

There was a frailty to his voice, incongruous with his aspect. He looked ready to set the world on fire; but he sounded like a little boy.

He sounded younger than Raze himself, unable to control himself, to show the littlest bit of tact.

Raze wasn’t sure if ne had it in nem to blame him.

Ne squeezed Maiko’s shoulder; echoed the question. It was time to face the truth. “Show me, Maiko.”

She let out a wail, shook her head; but ne was firm and ne wouldn’t relent. Phoenix, heedless of the whispers of his teammates, did the same. Aunt Laura didn’t join them; she had put her head between her hands, was staring at the table with unseeing eyes. She was very pale.

At last, Maiko raised her voice, tinged with hysteria. “He wouldn’t want to be seen like that!”

Before they could answer, Kazuro, who hadn’t joined the frantic questioning, spoke with his reassuring tone. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he said slowly, “He never did.” Phoenix jumped, looked at him. “He hides his wounds, because he’s stubborn. How can they be tended to, if he doesn’t acknowledge them? He’s never been a wise warrior.” But there was fondness in his voice. “We watch, Maiko-san, because we have to. We watch, because he deserves it. We watch, so that we may honor him. Not to sate our needs, but his.”

Phoenix looked shocked, abashed. But then he nodded, and stopped insisting; ne mimicked this, and there was silence, and eventually Maiko raised her head, her eyes red, her mouth a thin line. Her face wet with tears.

But she didn’t dry them.

She stood up and silently, slowly, methodically, went through the necessary steps, retrieving the holo projector and placing it on the table and setting it up. She looked resolute, though shaken. She didn’t look at anyone, least of all at nem.

It seemed an ancient ceremony, a hushed gathering of brother-in-arms. The X-Men, father’s old people – they looked ashen; Raze reached out to Charlie’s mind for strength. Chie stood beside Maiko, not touching her, but ne knew that was enough; Phoenix had grabbed aunt Laura’s hand and was squeezing it tightly.

They watched as Colcord, an ugly old man covered in burns, gloated and threatened and offered father to Maiko, whom he mercifully only thought of as the family’s lawyer. They watched as he cast off Edmondson when Maiko promised bloody retribution; as he mentioned that they’d counted on taking aunt Laura, but father had been good enough, all things considered.

When he had expounded his conditions, Maiko, who’d been, so far, managing admirably, drew his attention to the fact that her client was “Raven Darkhölme, and not her son”. She said that she had “no obligation to report any of this to Eike Darkhölme”, and no intention to “drive a wedge between the boy and his mother”. And had Colcord really thought that she’d help him overthrow a government?

The holo shook a little; for a second, Raze thought that it was Phoenix’s doing, but no, it was just that Colcord was chuckling as if she’d cracked a joke. “Yes,” he said, “I can see how this poses an ethical dilemma. Perhaps I can make it easier for you.”

And the holo flickered, and showed something else.

 _His hair_ , thought Raze incoherently. It was strange, wasn’t it, that the first thing ne noticed – the first thing that made nem seethe with indignation – was that they’d shaved father’s head?

Then ne saw the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : It couldn’t possibly be worse than what he’d already lived through.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the belly of the beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I was so moved by the response to the latest chapter. It’s amazing to know that so many of you still love this story; I’d begun to lose hope. This story is a labor of love but it’s so draining and your comments give me the strength to keep writing. We’re getting close to some really bad things and – I guess I need the encouragement ^^”
> 
> Now, for this chapter there are a few **TRIGGER WARNINGS** : abuse, suicidal ideation, medical experiments. Rape is mentioned.

34.

“‘Cause they took your loved ones,  
But returned them in exchange for you –  
But would you have it any other way?  
‘Cause she’s a cruel mistress,  
And a bargain must be made –  
But oh, my love, don’t forget me  
When I let the water take me.”

Florence + the Machine – _What the water gave me_

 

 

It couldn’t possibly be worse than what he’d already lived through.

Daken told himself this as he waited. Waited for someone to come and pick him up. To bring him directly to Colcord, he hoped.

The Avengers had thrown him into a containment room. He’d been roughened up, but not too much. Later, Hulkling had managed to come alone, and the look he’d given Daken through the glass had been mildly irritating.

He’d looked as if he was considering bursting Daken out of there, and Daken couldn’t allow that. They shouldn’t have brought Kaplan and his husband in, and at the last moment, at that; but Lee had insisted. She’d argued that having an inside man among the Avengers would be good. The insight had proven fruitful, but now Daken had to deal with a moon-eyed hero who was undoubtedly thinking to take matters into his own hands.

Subterfuge didn’t sit well with that kind of man. Heroes want to sweep in and loudly save the day; sometimes, that’s not enough.

It never is.

So he sat there, and he waited. If their gamble worked, Colcord would jump at the opportunity to study him. He’d pull some strings and take custody of him, make him disappear. In the meantime, Jessica Williams would work her way in.

It could work. It would work.

And by the time she had the information they needed, Daken would be dead.

He felt it in his bones: he wouldn’t survive whatever Colcord would do to him. It couldn’t possibly be worse than what he’d already lived through; but he wasn’t the man he once was. His body wasn’t what it had once been.

And, after all, he knew he was going to die. Raze had told him as much, so many years ago. He was sure it would happen there.

He would die alone, because he deserved that. He didn’t deserve the comfort of company. Hadn’t he hurt enough people? Now he was paying the price.

He waited, and eventually, someone came.

 

* * *

 

The newcomers looked like soldiers and wore standard gear.

He was taken and manhandled. Bound and collared. _Like an animal._ The restraints were mutant blockers: he couldn’t use his pheromones, nor his claws. He could hear or smell no more than the average human.

Nor could he heal.

The Avengers stood by and watched the proceedings; though Hulkling was the only one who could guess his destination, his teammates looked just as grim. They’d been overruled; Daken wondered what had they been told. Certainly, not the truth.

He struggled, chiefly for show, and was hit on the side, hard. He gasped, doubled over. That, he did only partly for show. When they straightened him up, Hulkling was gritting his teeth, but held his place. Good.

Would he report to his husband? Would Kaplan report to Lee, would Lee report to –

Daken stopped struggling, lest they hit him again.

He followed meekly the soldiers through the Avengers Tower until they reached a teleportation room.

They injected him with something.

Dark.

 

* * *

 

When he came to, it was still dark. He couldn’t adjust his sight.

He wasn’t bound anymore; he must be on blockers. He still wore the collar.

Dark room (maybe?), utter silence. A good way to confound him.

He sat up; his joints ached. How long had he lain there? From the pain, he could guess at least a few hours. But he couldn’t know for sure.

He placed a hand on the floor. Cold. Metal?

He got up tentatively, hissing at the pain in his side. They’d hit him hard. Or did he think so only because he had no healing factor?

He froze. He was on blockers; would he stay that way?

Would his healing factor return once they put him off blockers?

Perhaps this would be it. They’d do something to him, something small, even; and he wouldn’t survive, and he’d be disposed of, become like Creed. A corpse to be experimented on.

But it wouldn’t matter, as long as Williams came back with information. His role was nothing else than this: a red herring.

For now, he must play the game; he must do what should be expected of a prisoner who wakes up in a cold, dark, silent room.

Shout about his rights; demand to see his lawyer. It wouldn’t work, but he mustn’t act as if he knew it wouldn’t. Every second that his captors believed his ruse was a second well spent.

He didn’t think for a second that they were so stupid to actually believe it. But putting a seed of doubt was always useful.

He shouted for a long time. His voice echoed and came back to his ears in a way that would have hurt him much more, if he hadn’t been powerless; so he supposed he should be grateful for the blockers.

When his throat became sore, he stopped.

No one had come.

 

* * *

 

No one came for ages.

The room was small and barren and, when exhaustion came over him, he slept on the floor. He’d slept on worse beds.

When he woke up it was dark, and silent. His stomach growled; there used to be a time when he could discern the passage of time from how bad the cramps were – but that was so long ago, and he had no frame of reference anymore.

But he must have been there for at least a day. He was fairly sure.

He began his charade again, adding requests for food. For something to relieve himself, too: his bladder was full. He wasn’t going to piss himself and stench his clothes; he refused to.

No answer. No food; no water. Only darkness, and silence.

He mustn’t give in to despair. This was a trick; they wanted to see what he did. They wanted to wear him out.

He couldn’t eat anything – had he been younger, in his prime, with his healing factor at its peak, he’d have resorted to eating his own flesh.

He couldn’t eat anything, but there was something he could drink.

It wouldn’t work in the long run, but for now it would have to suffice.

He crouched down, relieved himself, and drank from his hands.

There wasn’t much else he could do; he needed to gather his strength. He huddled up in a corner, and waited.

 

* * *

 

Light.

The room was, indeed, a metal trap, and there was an entrance, too. At the moment, it was open, revealing a smaller room. Inside, on the floor, was a bucket.

For a moment, blinded by the light, he thought he was hallucinating. Dreaming. He must have dozed off, and now he dreamed light, and a bucket.

Why would he dream a bucket?

He wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t that far gone; he was still lucid. His stomach hurt –

He stank of shit. _They’d made him shit himself._ Like a fucking animal.

The light had woken him up; there was a bucket.

_Water_.

He scrambled to his feet and fell, too weak to stand. He crawled. His legs hurt. Everything hurt. He needed to eat. He –

The bucket was empty.

He stared down at it.

He could guess what he was meant to do with it.

 

* * *

 

They were testing him, the bastards.

Testing his resistance. Dehydration. Starvation.

They hadn’t even spoken to him first. They’d just thrown him into a room and begun their tests.

Were they really so stupid that they did so _without_ giving him his healing factor back first? He wasn’t going to last long. There was too much light. Black spots danced across his vision. His urine was becoming undrinkable, too salty. His stomach didn’t hurt anymore.

He stank so much. He’d removed his briefs, thrown them in the bucket with the rest, but he stank. God, he stank.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. He’d slept six times. Or seven? Would Quentin – Quentin –

He couldn’t think about Quentin. He couldn’t think about his face. His own betrayal. Quentin’s words, crueler than his own claws. But he hadn’t known. Daken had managed not to break, not to tell him. He thought Daken a puppeteer; at least he didn’t know. At least he wouldn’t suffer.

But of course he was suffering. He hadn’t wanted Daken to go through with the plan. His face, when he’d realized –

He had to stop thinking about Quentin. It would do him no good. It was done now. He’d never see Quentin again. He’d ruined everything, left it all to rot, and he was left with a barren room and a bucket full of shit. Fitting, in a way.

Didn’t he deserve this? Hadn’t Raze said so? Ne’d been right. He’d die here. He’d die here, and Raze would be happy, and Maiko would be relieved, and Quentin would live on. He was inconsequential. He was nothing more than the bait. He’d fulfilled his purpose. He could give up; give Colcord nothing to study, just a body.

He knew what they wanted him to do: eat his own flesh. Bite down on his arm and pull and chew and swallow. Do everything he could to survive.

He was too tired for that. He wasn’t going to give Colcord the satisfaction of watching him do that.

He lay down.

 

* * *

 

_The X-Men stormed a building, destroying everything in their way. Quentin was on the front line, beautiful and radiant and terrible, too bright to gaze upon. He tore through soldiers as if they were nothing, melted walls as if they were made of butter._

_They found an area full of little clones. Thousands and thousands of clones. Laura was crying. Raze run ahead, gathered the kids into nir arms, told them it would be all right. Some kids were catatonic. Others were screaming, attacking the X-Men. Quentin searched the rest of the facility, alone._

_He found a little room. He opened it and found a corpse, a stinking bundle of decomposed flesh._

_Disgusted, he left the room, and Raze appeared in his wake, surrounded by the meekest clones. Ne crunched up nir nose and turned nir back to the corpse, muttering: “Good riddance.”_

_Maiko was attending a Shinto funeral. She was composed as she went through the traditional steps; Chie stood beside her, as always. They wore matching rings._

_There was fire in the sky._

_They put a headstone beside Akihira’s. His father looked upon him with his sad, wise eyes, and spread his arms. Before Daken could reach him, he saw her. She stood at the other side of the river, her features unrecognizable from such distance. But it was her. He turned to show her to Akihira, but his father was gone; and Logan stood in his stead. He smiled and nodded at Daken, urged him to cross the river. She was looking at him; was she smiling?_

_He took a step –_

_Romulus stood in the way, enormous and muscular, a naked beast, a leer on his face. Daken tried to walk past him, struggled to ignore him, but he was little and sinking into snow, blood trailing down his thighs. Everything hurt. His whole body hurt. He cried out. She walked away, and he tried to raise a hand, tried to touch her, called out to her to wait for him; but everything was burning, the sky was red, and Romulus caught his hand. She vanished._

_“You can’t.” Romulus laughed. “You’re waking up, boy.”_

 

* * *

 

Light.

Strong light, shining through his closed eyelids. He kept his eyes shut, hoping to buy some time.

He couldn’t move. He was restrained, maybe? He felt something around his legs, his arms, his torso, keeping him pinned. Cold. Metal? Everything hurt. Every inch of his body hurt. It was a dull pain, not dissimilar to the one he felt when he revived from particularly straining deaths. He could feel his body repair itself, working full time to reknit the damaged tissue of his stomach and kidneys. They’d put him off blockers.

And there was something – he was being injected something. He could feel the drip in his arm – multiple drips.

“Just in time, eh?” The voice came from his right. Colcord’s, obviously. Daken opened his eyes. Of course they’d know when he woke up. He was being monitored.

Colcord stood just beside him, his head tilted away from the light. The angle did him no justice, but even without that, it seemed clear that time hadn’t been kind to him. Apparently he hadn’t managed to find a way to heal from the burns he’d been inflicted in Madripoor so many years ago, and the skin looked swollen, gangrenous, hung from his skull. It must be a nightmare to keep it clean.

He appeared to be looking at Daken; it was hard to tell.

Colcord nodded. “I’d feared you’d insult me by feigning surprise.”

_I should have, yes. If I’d kept my wits about me_. Daken fought to keep his features neutral. It was difficult, while being gnawed away by his cells multiplying at speed. But then again, he’d prepared for this outcome. He’d never believed that they would believe the ruse. He’d believed they’d turn a blind eye to it, eager as they were to find themselves a lab rat.

Speaking of which, people were moving in the background. Doctors, maybe. Scientists. All gleefully rubbing their hands, no doubt. Daken tried to get a look at them, but the angle was all wrong –

Colcord patted his shoulder and Daken couldn’t even recoil. He returned his attention to the man as he said, his smile a vicious thing: “Don’t worry, today’s off for you. I need you to gather your strength.” His teeth flashed, white and whole, incongruous with the rest of his face. “It was such a thoughtful gift, walking right into our arms. _Thank you_.” He turned to leave.

_Say something, you fool_. _Show weakness. Lull him_ – Daken strained helplessly against his bindings. “What are you going to do to me? _Where am I?_ ”

Colcord only laughed. The people around him were leaving, too; they wouldn’t touch Daken without Colcord’s say-so.

And so he was left alone. Bound, at their mercy. Unable to move, to see anything; especially when they turned out the lights, leaving him in the darkness. He could only wait, wonder what they’d do come morning – but was it day, or night? He didn’t even know the date.

He gritted his teeth. He’d lived through much worse than what they could imagine. He’d been taken and torn apart countless times; he’d even been made to watch as he lay there, his organs exposed. The pain was nothing; he wasn’t scared of it. He was scared of dying from it, yes, there on a cold table, away from everyone he loved. From those whose love he didn’t deserve. From those he’d hurt.

He could see them in front of him, even now, their faces. Their anguished expressions. Damn him. Damn him to hell. He couldn’t do anything to delete their pain; he could only hope this would suffice.

Atonement at the hands of mad scientists was still atonement. Wasn’t it? He thought it was. It would suffice, surely. It would wipe away all he’d done, everything, anything –

No. It wouldn’t wipe away anything. That wasn’t how it worked. What he’d done was what he’d done, and he must live with it, and if he died, it wouldn’t vanish as if he’d never done a thing. Raze would still have been taken, and destroyed, would still have been disappointed with him, felt betrayed by him. Maiko, his brilliant girl, would still have bled from his words. Quentin –

He mustn’t think about Quentin. About what he’d done to that beautiful, gentle, amazing man. He mustn’t think of Quentin’s eyes, of his horrified expression – of his words before, of their row, of his words cutting deep, deep into Daken, in ways he’d never have imagined. Of his tears, the night before, as Daken gave himself over, as he _forced_ himself to welcome Quentin, to be taken, as he struggled to hide everything, _everything_ , as he failed and hurt Quentin, hurt him so much that it hurt to breathe, even now. He mustn’t think about Quentin.

He mustn’t think about anyone; he had no right to. He mustn’t think about his children, not after what he’d done to them, the horrible ways he’d hurt them. It would be better for him to disappear here, here in this hole, bound to this table.

It would be better to just close his eyes and disappear, his purpose fulfilled.

Nothing more than the bait. Nothing more; nothing more to do. Just lay still, and wait.

Wait for the thing that would kill him.

 

* * *

 

Colcord wouldn’t let him die.

Daken didn’t even see him again, not for what he thought were weeks. It was difficult to keep track of the passage of time in the lab; the lights were turned up and down at odd intervals, so that he could never be sure of how many hours had passed. He slept, or dozed off, when they left, and was awake when they came back; that was the only thing he knew.

Anything other than that was too much to think about. He was focused on his healing factor, working overtime to protect him from the constant attacks.

They were testing poisons on him.

Every “day” – when the lights were on – it was something different. They’d administer a new concoction by drip and then wait for his reactions. Normally, his healing factor recognized the substance and fought back.

Other times, it was some new thing, or his healing factor didn’t recognize the danger until it was too late, or it simply couldn’t react, if its previous fighting had worn it off; and so the poison hit, and it hit hard.

He vomited all over himself more times than he wanted to count, or he trashed about, or he had seizures; he bled and swelled and suffocated, and through it all the doctors stood calmly by and wrote everything down, as nurses – or what he thought were nurses – rushed over to him and administered the antidote, brought him back. He wasn’t allowed to die there. All in all, despite the strain, and the disgust, and the pain, he preferred those times, because they left him alone for longer after such occurrences, not wanting to wear down their guinea pig, and he was left to the darkness and his own thoughts, to his family, to Quentin.

Despite his resolve of the first days, he’d found that he needed to see their faces not to lose himself completely in the facility. He needed, despite how much he hurt at recalling their hurt, something to hold him back. Something to remind him – dammit, to remind him that he was human; strapped to that table, he couldn’t keep his dignity. He was prodded and studied and subjected to substances that did horrible things to his body. He was fed through IV and he couldn’t even get up to tend to his bodily functions. He was, so that they could have better access to his body, even denied clothes.

He couldn’t keep his dignity.

And they’d cut his hair. To keep him clean. To avoid having to tend to it.

He wasn’t allowed to keep even the bare minimum of dignity, naked and shivering and nauseous and hairless.

So he had to resort to other ways. They could take his dignity – even his _life_ , if it came to that – but they couldn’t touch his mind. He wouldn’t allow them to.

And in his mind, he could retreat back to other times, older times, better times. To times when he hadn’t so horribly fucked up everything and everyone he ever cared about. To simpler times.

Little Eike, sleeping in his bed, a little fist curled around the sheets, untroubled by nightmares.

Maiko, sitting beside him on the couch, a mug of tea between her hands, a soft smile on her lips.

Quentin sleeping next to him, holding him, his face so close, a promise and a reassurance.

And Laura, too. He’d hurt her, too; he shuddered to think of how she must have reacted when word reached her of his and Lee’s plan, when she realized she’d been sent away so that she wouldn’t interfere. His blessed sister. Laura, with her no-nonsense attitude and her secret smiles, visiting him and his family, unwaveringly supporting him, keeping everything from Logan –

Logan. Daken couldn’t go further than that, couldn’t go so much back. Those ten years before it all went to hell, before he abandoned his child, where the happiest he’d ever been; and then after, with Quentin, for a blessed while. But before that – before the children, and Laura…

That was a whole other can of worms. One his subconscious opened at night, when he had no way to control his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, he saw Colcord again.

Some time – he had no idea how much, it was all so muddled – after an experiment that had him seizing for far too long, he was collared and handcuffed and given blockers. He was put in a hospital gown and wheeled through corridor after corridor, surrounded by soldiers whose animosity he could perceive even without hypersenses. Their fingers seemed to itch for their guns, as if nothing would please them more than him trying to escape.

He wouldn’t have tried that even if he could move. He knew he was outnumbered, and he had no idea where the facility was, anyway. It could be on a secluded island, for all he knew.

And there was the fact that he couldn’t move. His limbs ached, no, _hurt_ from his ordeal in the lab, something his healing factor hadn’t taken care of, too focused on the poisons. When he’d been hauled off the table he’d tried to stay upright, but his legs had given way immediately. Two or three soldiers had laughed viciously, before being shushed by the doctors; then he’d been caught by the arms and unceremoniously dropped on the wheelchair.

Colcord waited for him in what appeared to be his study. He was reading some files, and didn’t look up when Daken was brought in; he just waved a hand to dismiss Daken’s escort, and soon they were alone in the room.

Colcord kept ignoring him. Undoubtedly it gave him great pleasure to have Daken there, at his mercy, unable to do anything more than sit and stare at him.

He could still talk, couldn’t he? Test the waters. Gauge Colcord.

But he didn’t dare try anything, lest he let away something about Jessica Williams. His thoughts were sluggish, muddled; he didn’t trust himself to speak. And he hadn’t spoken in a long time – the doctors didn’t talk to him, and his first attempts, so long ago, had been met with stern silence and stronger dosages. At least, he thought that was the case. And if the choice was between speaking and being poisoned _more_ than he already was, it wasn’t a choice at all, was it?

Eventually Colcord tapped the files away, and looked up at him. “So. Those burns haven’t healed yet.”

Quentin’s burns. They were still with him, then? Quentin was still, somehow, with him? Daken would have liked to look at them, but now he was dressed, and he couldn’t. Perhaps he’d manage to sneak a peek when they stripped him of the hospital gown –

There was a sudden noise that made him jump – jump as much as he could, anyway, which wasn’t much – on his seat, but as he focused on Colcord, he saw that he’d held up a hand, and he was snapping his fingers in front of Daken’s face – that must be the noise he’d just heard.

Colcord leant back against his seat and grimaced. Or maybe it was a smile. It was difficult to tell, what with all the damaged tissue –

“That rules out things. You’re really inconveniencing me here, Daken.” Colcord tilted his head. “I’ll have to make due.”

“Make due with what?” said Daken. Or, at least, that’s what he’d meant to say.

What came out of his mouth – what he heard, and his brain screeched to a halt as it processed that the sounds were indeed coming from his mouth – was a string of blurred vowels that in no shape or form resembled actual words. His blood run cold, he attempted to speak again – he hadn’t spoken in ages, it was just that, it surely was just that, how much time had he spent in that lab – but his jaw moved of its own accord or didn’t move at all, his tongue felt like sand paper, and why couldn’t he speak, why –

The poisons. They’d fucked with him, they’d –

The sound again. Colcord was snapping his fingers, his hand inches from Daken, and Daken was struck with the impulse to bite them off, snap his jaw, bite down and make Colcord scream. But he couldn’t even move his jaw like he wanted. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t –

“And there’s that, of course,” continued Colcord, settling back against his chair again. “Good thing we don’t actually need you to speak.” He grimaced. “Good riddance, that. I hated hearing your little speeches back then. Do you remember? When you left me to die?” He turned a little in his seat, gazing wistfully to the side.

Daken was shaking. He wanted to spring from the wheelchair and drive his claws through Colcord, and the worst part was that he knew he couldn’t. Not because he was tied to it, his hands encased, his powers gone; but because he couldn’t _move_ , couldn’t control his muscles, couldn’t even stop the trembling –

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t _speak_.

“You really should have killed me then, you know.” Colcord looked back at him, his eyes glinting with malice and hate.

_I should have. God, I should have_. None of this would have happened. Maybe it would have even spared Raze.

Colcord tutted. “Now you’re stuck in this role reversal, and let me tell you this: you played right into our hands.” He smiled, all teeth.

No he _hadn’t_. Daken could only stare – _Colcord_ had played straight into _Daken_ ’s hands, fallen for this trap. The organization would be infiltrated soon, and torn apart, and Daken would have loved to stick around enough to witness Colcord’s demise. Please, God, at least allow him to see Colcord crawl in the dirt.

That was the state of things. Wasn’t it? But every nerve in him screamed in alarm at the smug, knowing look Colcord was giving him.

“Using the girl was inspired, I’ll give you that,” said Colcord off-handedly. Daken felt his breath stutter to a halt. Colcord shrugged. “You didn’t really think we wouldn’t notice, did you? I’m offended, really.”

She was dead. Williams was dead and this was for nothing, and Daken would die for nothing, nothing accomplished, his children still in danger –

“Christ, that’s annoying,” snapped Colcord, and he touched something on his desk as a sound echoed in the room, louder and louder, a cry like that of a wounded animal, an incoherent vocalization that was indeed grating, that almost covered Colcord’s bellowed order to make it stop, and that stopped as soon as someone clamped a hand over Daken’s mouth.

Oh. Oh God. Oh God, oh God –

This time he knew that the whimpering came from him. And the disgusted, annoyed look on Colcord’s face, and the fabric – of course the person had gloved hands – being pressed against his mouth, it felt wet, he was drooling, wasn’t he? He was _drooling_. What had they done to him, what had they done to him, what had they done to –

A sting on his neck. Some injection. He felt drowsy, his head lulled forwards, the sound stopped.

He was still screaming in his head. Screaming, screaming. This was a nightmare. A long, long nightmare from which he’d wake up soon –

No, this was the reality. This was what he’d given up everything for, this foolish plan that had always been doomed to fail, and it had been for nothing. He’d die here, a drooling lab rat, and it would be for nothing, all would be for nothing; his children were still in danger, and he’d done nothing to protect them. He’d failed. He was a disappointment, a failure. Stupid. Weak. Foolish.

Voices coming through the fog. So very close.

“- sane subject. How are we supposed to fix anything by studying something equally damaged?”

“This is still better than having a corpse.”

“At this rate, that’s all we’ll have. Again _._ ”

Silence. Daken tried to focus, tried to understand. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, but he still had his mind. He was a weakling, a broken thing, but he could still listen.

“What do you suggest then?”

“I suggest a few days of rest. See if the healing factor catches up, repairs some of the damage.”

“You know we don’t need him up and about, do you? We don’t even need him conscious.”

“Sir, respectfully, we need him at the best of his capabilities if we want results.”

Silence again. A few days of rest?

Something in Daken stirred with abject relief at the prospect. Some days of rest? He’d degrade himself, he’d beg if necessary, he’d debase himself –

He was whining again, and he couldn’t stop it. He could feel the drool coming out of his mouth, and it disgusted him and it enraged him and it filled him with exhaustion. He just wanted to rest. God, let him rest. Please, he’d do anything, anything –

“God, I can’t stand this sound. All right. We’ll give it a few days, see how it goes. But then you’ll take him again, I don’t care if he’s a vegetable.”

Daken could have cried at the words. As it was, a sort of muffled sob came out of his mouth. The whining didn’t stop.

And there was still someone talking. Still Colcord, it seemed.

“… wouldn’t care about what you do to him. But impede his healing in any way, and there will be consequences.”

“Yes, sir.” A different voice?

“Go on then.”

They were moving him. Daken tried to raise his head, but it was too heavy – he wanted to believe that, he wanted to believe it was just because of whatever they’d given him to control his – how should he call it – he dreaded to call it fit, but that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

So, as he couldn’t raise his head – just because of what they’d given him, just because of that, and he’d heal soon, he was getting a few days of rest, a few blessed days of rest – he could only stare at the floor at the edges of his vision, the floor moving in front of him as they pushed him – where?

They weren’t going back to the lab, they were taking longer than earlier. That is, if he was lucid enough to recognize the passing of time. Was he? He wasn’t sure anymore. He wasn’t sure of anything. He couldn’t talk, and he couldn’t move, and his mind was his last crutch, but what if it was defective too? What if whatever they’d done to him affected his mind too?

His trouble with speaking, moving – it could be due to neurological damage. If his mind was affected too –

But no, he had to believe that a few days of rest would permit his healing factor to fix everything. He _had_ to believe it –

“… return home in a coffin!”

His escort had stopped. The floor looked metallic. There was a strong light.

“You won’t return home in a coffin.”

“We _will_ if we touch him, you heard him!”

“He was giving us permission, you idiot. We can’t do anything that impedes his healing, but the rest is fair game.”

Daken’s blood run cold. They were talking about him. Weren’t they? They were talking about –

“Oh look, he’s _scared_.” The wheelchair was violently pushed up and forward. He fell, collided against the floor. He wasn’t bound anymore and he hadn’t even noticed. It was cold. So cold. _Get up. Get up. Get up._ His brain gave the order, his nerves carried it, maybe, he wasn’t sure if they even carried it, but it didn’t matter, because he still didn’t move.

And those sounds coming out of his mouth. He hated them, _hated_ that he sounded so scared, that he couldn’t move, couldn’t stick his claws in the men around him. How many were there?

He didn’t want to die like this. He’d been prepared to die on a surgery table, with his dignity intact, or as much dignity as he could muster; knowing he was on that table because he’d wanted to, because his sacrifice would mean something, but Williams was dead and all was lost and –

He’d thought he’d die before actually debasing himself. Oh, he wouldn’t die now, in this exact moment, but he’d die later, much later, when Colcord had no use for him anymore, and he’d die as a weak, pathetic, whimpering thing. And it would all be for nothing. His betrayal to Quentin – Quentin –

_I want to see him again_. It came through, desperate, lucid, vivid. He wanted to see Quentin again. Explain to him, fix everything –

But it couldn’t happen. It would never happen.

“I bet my brother was scared, too,” spat someone from above. “As he plummeted to the ground, knowing there was nothing he could do. How does that feel?”

Daken braced for the hit.

Nothing that he hadn’t lived through already, nothing he hadn’t lived through already –

These soldiers couldn’t possibly conceive anything that hadn’t already been done to him. They wanted to hurt him, but they couldn’t possibly do anything that hadn’t already been done to him. He’d lived through much worse than what a bunch of sadistic soldiers would do to him –

But he’d done it with a functioning healing factor.

He couldn’t breathe, his heart hammering in his ears, along with the horrible sounds coming out of his mouth.

And the hit still wasn’t coming.

There was, instead, a pressure on his thigh, high, almost on his buttock, his naked buttock, a boot pressing onto his naked buttock, the hospital gown, it was open in the back, the hospital gown was open in the back, and he wanted to scream, he wanted to _scream_ –

_No. No, oh God, please no_. _Please…_

“Disgusting.”

He couldn’t move, God, he couldn’t move, couldn’t crawl away, couldn’t do anything, he could only lay there and make those _sounds_ , those horrible sounds, and wait, and wait, and wait –

“Turn him around.”

No. No, no, no, he didn’t want to see their faces while they – while they –

He’d close his eyes. He’d squint them shut and think of something else, anything, Quentin…

No, not Quentin. He couldn’t think of Quentin while they had their way with him. The memory of their last night came back, what he’d done to himself, doing all he could so that Quentin wouldn’t realise what he was doing, and he knew that, if he thought of Quentin now, he would never be able to look him in the eyes again.

But what did it matter? He’d never make it out of here alive. He’d never see Quentin again.

But still he couldn’t think of Quentin while they raped him. He’d rather die.

He’d go further back. Think of something else –

Why weren’t they getting on with it? Did they want him to beg? He couldn’t beg. God, he’d do it if he could, even if he knew that it wouldn’t save him. But they weren’t doing anything. They’d rolled him to his side, and there was something sticky on the floor under his leg, something warm and wet, something that smelled foul –

He’d pissed himself.

He’d pissed himself, and there was a pair of boots in front of him. The soldier crouched – he looked so young, with a snarl on his face and eyes glinting with fury.

“Don’t think you’re safe,” he spat. He wasn’t the one that had been talking earlier, the one whose brother had plummeted to the ground. It was another one. “First, you heal, or we’re all going to pay. _Then_ , we’ll make you pay.”

For what? God, what did they want to make him pay for? Had he done something to them?

He was paying, wasn’t he? For all he’d done in the past, to people whose names and faces he hadn’t ever cared to remember. He was paying, and dearly, for everything he’d ever done. He probably deserved everything they’d do to him. Didn’t he?

He probably deserved even being raped. Hadn’t he said so to Quentin? He’d hurt people. He’d done the same thing that these soldiers wanted to do to him. He deserved it –

“The blockers wear down in a few hours,” said the soldier, standing up. He spat on him, a viscous glob that slid down his cheek. “I look forward to watching you try to crawl away.”

He left with the others, or so Daken thought; he couldn’t crane his neck, couldn’t see if they’d gone or not. He only knew that he didn’t see them in his line of vision, nor did he hear anything anymore. He was alone.

Alone in a pool of his own urine, with the hope he’d start to heal soon; and the prospect of further tortures ahead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : He refused to think of any other outcome.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLEASE PAY ATTENTION!** There’s a big **trigger warning** for this chapter, but it’s going to be a **major spoiler** , so I decided to write it in a more convoluted way, so you can decide whether to read it or not – perhaps you don’t want to be spoiled too much. Roll mouse over the symbol for a **popup trigger warning** :
> 
> **SPOILER ALERT** ! <\-- Only mouse-over this symbol if you need to read the trigger warning. 

35.

“No light, no light in your bright blue eyes…  
I never knew daylight could be so violent.  
A revelation in the light of day:  
You can't choose what stays and what fades away.”

Florence + the Machine – _No light, no light_

 

 

If only he knew where they were keeping Daken.

He would go there immediately. He’d do it in a heartbeat; he’d go there, tear the walls apart, find Daken. He’d burn Colcord alive.

But he didn’t know. And he was left as he’d been left for months, to wring his hands and wait for someone else’s answers. He was left to wait and play a game he had no interest in playing.

And the worst part was that now he did know something. Now he knew, because he’d seen. He’d seen Daken, and he could never sleep again. Not with that image burned in his corneas.

Daken had looked so fragile, so lost, so dead. Not really dead, no. He was breathing; he was hooked to some machinery. But his eyes – his bright blue eyes had lost all light. He stared straight ahead, probably seeing nothing.

Colcord had said that it was his default state, now. He’d even mused that he’d have loved to know where did he go when he was like that.

_And I’d love to set you on fire_ , Quentin had thought as he watched. _I’d love to watch you burn. To hear you scream._

It had taken everything in him, every ounce of the self-control he’d had to call upon for months, not to take flight from Madripoor to find Edmondson and torture him into an answer.

He still battled against that impulse. But it wouldn’t do – fuck, it _couldn’t_ do – to go on a rampage right now. He had to keep his cool, because sure as hell the world would take such an action as an act of war. And they’d strike first and ask second, and people would die.

So he sat still, and waited.

He could still see Daken in front of him, in that horrible holo. He could still hear Maiko calling him “Mr Akihiro” when Colcord agreed to let them speak, Maiko’s voice growing more and more panicked as Daken didn’t respond. He could still feel the sharp pang in his chest as Daken started convulsing, his legs and arms straining against the bonds; and the feeling of air being sucked out of him when Raze, who’d so far stood trembling, silently watching, had screamed, “He’s saying something!”

Ne’d pointed a shaking finger at nir father’s hands. Daken was moving them, it was true, but that was due to the convulsions – or so he had thought, until Maiko had joined her sibling in front of the holo, staring intently at the terrible images.

And oh, the sudden look of hope on her face! The same feeling had started burning in Quentin; had taken him, leaving him breathless, when Maiko had agreed with Raze. Daken was indeed saying something with his hands – with his fingers, to be more precise; a code he’d devised years ago, explained Maiko, to communicate with her in case they couldn’t speak. And he was signing, over and over and over again, a single word.

_Danger_.

A warning they had no need of, as it was pretty obvious that the entire situation was very dangerous. But the important part wasn’t the message itself.

The important part, had thought Quentin as he sobbed with relief, was that Daken was conscious. Despite his aspect, his unresponsiveness, his dead eyes – he was still there. He was still there, he knew his surroundings, and he still had his mind.

He wasn’t too far gone into the torture he’d surely suffered, the torture his body showed to have taken.

Quentin had wept. Still wept. Daken was covered in marks, bruises, scars. He even still had some of Quentin’s burns. And they were visible because he was naked. Stark naked! The monsters left him like that, like an animal. They’d stripped him of everything.

But not of his mind. Daken was still there, and Colcord had no clue. He thought him broken; one could hear it in the mocking lilt of his voice. He thought Daken broken, but oh, he was wrong.

Daken was still there, and sure, it would take time to fix everything; but Quentin would be there with him every step of the way.

He refused to think of any other outcome.

They’d take Daken back. He was sure of it.

But he had to wait. They had to play by Colcord’s rules.

Or make him believe so.

 

* * *

 

The “coup” was a smooth affair.

No fight had to take place, so it was simply a matter of updating the world about the changed course. A press conference was arranged, during which “Mystique” said she’d retire and leave everything in the capable hands of her son. Obviously both of them had to appear, so they enlisted the help of Morph, who lived already on the island, to impersonate Raze, while Raze stood in character as Mystique. It was better this way; Morph didn’t have to say much, and no one had ever seen Raze – or Eike, as ne had to be called during the press conference. Ne’d wanted to give the name ne’d chosen, to leave a bloody message to anyone who’d understand it – but ne’d been talked out of it. The situation was dire enough without giving away information too.

Of course, the name appeared in Elizabeth Garner’s videos, the videos that apparently had been left as trail; but it was better to avoid arousing suspicion, lest Colcord decided to check on the abandoned facility and found Creed’s blood all over the place. It was little information that they had, but it was still better than having none, and it was better to keep it close to their chests.

So the “coup” left Raze in charge of Madripoor. They’d gone for a bloodless handover; they could have faked a real battle for the control of the island, maybe, but that would have put it in a precarious situation, with other countries reacting badly and the public opinion swayed against Madripoor. It would have given the idea that the island’s government was too unstable, that some nation or the other must save its citizens from the current head of state; and they all thought that Colcord, despite apparently going behind Edmondson’s back – his nonchalance when Maiko had threatened to expose the President spoke volumes – had wanted the coup because probably Edmondson himself wanted it, and would use it to invade the island. They’d briefly thought of leaking the video to Edmondson, to drive a wedge between him and Colcord; but that wouldn’t save Daken. Colcord could simply take everything – Daken, the clones – and disappear.

Daken had to be saved. As for the clones, they could only hope that Jessica Williams was about to show up with information regarding the kids’ location.

And if that didn’t happen… they’d have to think of something else. For now, saving Daken was the priority. He was the one they could get a hold of immediately; the clones’ whereabouts where still unknown, and waiting wasn’t an option anymore. Keeping Daken there wouldn’t accomplish anything, something Quentin had said more than once ever since the beginning. Once reached that conclusion, they’d all moved immediately. Even if it was obvious that there was something afoot, that Madripoor was in danger, that the coup could only bring instability and it had been demanded exactly because of that – even knowing all this, there was no other option available. Not after seeing Daken on that table.

After the press conference, which had the internet abuzz with speculation, they waited for Colcord to call again. Some of the X-Men would stay in Madripoor at all times, and Quentin and Laura had obviously elected to remain. They only had to wait – but they didn’t wait long.

The morning after, Colcord called Maiko.

This time she wasn’t alone, though she’d appear to be. This time there were others with her, ready to share the burden, to encourage her through the call. Her near-breakdown of the other day had shaken Laura: she’d said that her niece had a strong self-control, and that she’d abused it the past few months. She worried for Maiko’s sanity; when this madness was over, Raze wouldn’t be the only one in need of support and therapy.

Daken would need it as well, of course. Quentin gritted his teeth. But the children –

Daken would get out of that hellhole only to discover how badly his children, whom he’d done everything for, whom he’d faced torture for, were faring.

Dark times were ahead.

That is, if Daken got out of that hellhole. If he survived at all.

_Stop it._

Quentin focused on the holo in front of him. On Maiko’s rigid figure as she spoke with Colcord. Beside him, Laura and Raze wore twin masks of fury. Behind the kid stood, as always, Charles. The presence he exuded was quite terrifying for a boy his age. After all, like father, like son. There was an aura of command around him, a quietly simmering power. Quentin had no intention of testing it, though he could sense the worrying mental link between the two half-siblings. He’d felt it as soon as he entered the building, the other day, but when the two of them had come into the conference room he’d been stricken by the sheer force behind it. It was obvious it balanced Raze, and now wasn’t the time to see how would the young shapeshifter fare without it. Ne could fall catatonic, or succumb to rage and violence. It’d only render this tragic situation even more volatile. As cynical as it was – and knowing that Daken could very well hate him for it – Quentin didn’t think that now was the time to confront Charles about it.

He’d do it once Daken was secured. Once he was safe, back in his arms.

But Colcord was being difficult.

He said he’d asked for a coup, not a handover. Obviously the boy didn’t care about his father at all, he drawled, if he thought that hiding behind his mother’s skirt and deferring to her would help him. Raven Darkhölme hadn’t obviously ever cared for Daken, letting him be captured like that, so why was the boy still obeying her was beyond Colcord.

Raze entered the conversation with style. Throughout the little speech ne’d gritted nir teeth so hard that Quentin had glanced over at nem with worry, but when ne approached the holo, wearing the masculine aspect Morph had taken on during the press conference, ne was the picture of composure.

“Of course, you don’t have my father’s best interest at heart either,” ne said, smiling genially and joining nir sister in front of the holo. Maiko dipped her head, the perfect picture of a respectful subordinate and nothing else.

They’d have to control their body language not to give away their relationship, but they’d said they’d manage.

“Mr Darkhölme,” greeted Colcord. “We meet, at last.”

“Yeah, do cut the shit,” ne snapped. Maiko jumped minutely. They were going to portray Raze as brash and impulsive, exactly as they thought Edmondson wanted. “You were complaining about?” Ne cocked nir head, staring coldly at Colcord.

The man settled in his seat. “About you not fulfilling your end of the bargain, Mr Darkhölme. Do you really think –”

“A bargain you didn’t strike with me,” interrupted Raze. “But with the lovely Miss Arakawa, here.” Ne cocked nir head in her direction.

“Oh, so I’m to assume that you don’t care about me fulfilling my end, then,” sneered Colcord. “A pity you don’t care about your father. He’ll be thrilled, I’m sure. That is, if he even understands what’s going on anymore –”

“I care about him very much, thank you,” spat Raze, setting nir hands on the table so that Colcord would see the claws. “Which is why I’m submitting to your fucking bargain. I killed my mum, you know,” ne shrugged with indifference as Colcord straightened up, a glint of interest in his eyes. “Do try to be grateful.”

“Did you.” Colcord’s delivery was flat, brimmed with incredulity. “Who was it yesterday, then, that put Madripoor in your hands?”

“Oh, that was me.” Raze smiled, all teeth.

“Do you really expect me to believe she’s not alive and kicking, ready to fall upon us like a screaming banshee the minute I fall for this trap?” Colcord tutted. “I expected better, Miss Arakawa,” he looked at Maiko. “This is juvenile.”

“I stuck my claws in her skull.” Raze’s voice took on an ominous, terrible, shivering quality. No one could take nir words as anything less than the truth and Colcord could likely sense it, his head cocked to the side, his eyes calculating.

This was a gamble, but one that should pay well.

“She wouldn’t listen to reason, so I had to kill her.” Raze lowered nir head to feint remorse, then looked up again, nir yellow eyes flashing. “Now give me back my father.” This display would make Daken’s heart break, but if it could help win him back, Quentin didn’t care about the consequences. He’d even accept it if Daken hated him for allowing this, for allowing the damage in Raze to go even deeper.

Colcord raised a hand. “Why that circus, yesterday? You could have given what I asked, without making me believe you hadn’t.”

“I’m gonna hold this island for as long as you get me my father back. As insurance. Couldn’t really do it by saying I’d killed my mom, could I?” Raze half-shrugged.

“… No, you couldn’t.” Colcord seemed convinced. Of course, he could be acting. “What stops me from using your confession now, going public with it, tearing the island to shreds, and not giving your father back?”

Raze’s eyes flashed as ne growled, seemed ready to bounce on the holo. Quentin himself had to be physically restrained from Laura, because he was about to stride in and threaten Colcord very creatively.

Laura’s fingers dug deep into his arm; Quentin centered himself on that pain.

They had to trust Raze to deliver everything without fail. After all, they’d counted on Colcord saying exactly that.

“Nothing,” ne said through gritted teeth. “Except this. I know you want this island and you know that I know. Do you want to lose people while you do it, or to be handed it over without bloodshed at all?”

Colcord’s eyes lit up in interest again. “Do elaborate. Are you threatening the United States?”

“No, I’m telling you what will happen. The island is filled to the brim with living weapons. These people _will_ fight if you attack head-on. They won’t, though, if I tell them not to. If you come in overnight.” Raze lowered nir voice. “Isn’t it better to take the island with minimal losses on your part?”

“It certainly is.” Colcord nodded minutely. “And you’d just hand it over? Just like that?” He cocked a hairless eyebrow. “Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical.”

“Why? You think I care about here? It’s a dump.” Raze crunched up nir nose. “Way too much hassle. I never understood what the hell was so important about this place. It was mother’s fight, it’s not mine.”

“This, of course, is still assuming I believe your claim,” murmured Colcord. But he really seemed to be considering.

Raze shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the truth.”

“Would you be willing to hand over her corpse, then?”

“Ah!” Raze laughed. “Hand over something else you could use to enhance my clones? I’m desperate, not stupid,” ne snarled. “I’m giving you enough as it is, I’m not giving you that too. I’ve burnt her.”

“I see.” Colcord pressed his long fingers together. “If you were impersonating her, who was impersonating you yesterday?”

“A shapeshifter, duh.” Raze nodded at Maiko, who turned to tap on another holo. “A Benjamin Deeds. Arakawa here is sending you his bank details. You’ll see he was well paid for that little stunt.”

“That she is.” Colcord stared to the side. He moved, apparently browsing something. They waited to see if he’d fall for it.

If he did, the island would most certainly not be handed over. They’d fight, and they’d fight fiercely. But he wouldn’t expect it. And the stealthy handover would look, to the world, like a cowardly attack on Edmondson’s part.

As for that bit about killing Mystique – it was risky, but they’d needed something particularly impressive to lure Colcord in. And even if he used it as he’d threatened to, they had proof of that having never happened. Raze would have to confess that he’d deceived the world from the start, that Mystique had died years ago, but that was an acceptable loss.

“Deeds was an X-Man,” said Colcord.

“Yeah, congratulations. You can do your research.” Raze rolled nir eyes, turning them from yellow to “normal” for that exact purpose. Childish indeed. “And?”

“What about them? The X-Men.” Colcord laid his chin on his joined hands. “Do they know about your little betrayal, I wonder?” He cocked his head. “Is it really a betrayal?”

It was really a statement to the siblings’ nerves of steel that they didn’t falter. Raze scoffed. “It may have escaped your notice, but the X-Men stopped supporting us the moment they discovered what father was doing to their precious Phoenix.” Quentin shivered. He still hated that last stunt, that horrible lie that was now out in the world, even more than the rest that had happened. “What, you think they’re in on this?” Raze waved a hand. “On my handing the island over to you? This is all a gigantic trap I’m laying together with them?” Ne snorted. “Man, you’re joking? I don’t fucking care about all this. Politics, little games, heroics. I just want to go home.” Ne twisted nir face. “I just want my fucking father back, asshole. Quit playing and _give him back_.”

Quentin tensed, together with Laura. Was it too much? Was ne overselling it? Would Colcord smell the rat?

Perhaps not. He leant back, drumming his fingers on the table in front of him. From the sound, it appeared to be a wooden desk. “All right,” he said.

Raze inhaled sharply. “All right? You’re giving him back?” Ne straightened up. Beside nem, Maiko must be doing everything in her power not to show how the news affected her.

Quentin held his breath.

“Yes, I’ll send him to you.” Colcord tsked. “Not immediately. He can’t be teleported, you see, apparently he’s too damaged for that.” He smiled apologetically. “And he needs to heal a bit to take a trip, anyway.”

Quentin wanted to wipe the smile off the man’s face. He wanted to burn him further than he already was, without killing him. He wanted to render him so miserable that he’d kill himself.

“So when?” snarled Raze. “If you think I’m gonna just hand you over the island on your word –”

“No, of course not. A mutual handover, maybe? Though, ah,” Colcord seemed to hesitate, “We’ll have to work something out. There’s a little problem with the logistics.”

“A problem with the logistics.” Raze growled. Ne wasn’t acting at all, ne wasn’t pretending to be a rash youth; ne was thoroughly pissed. “Such as?”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Mr Darkhölme,” said Colcord as he shook his head, “You brought this upon yourself, with your little charade in Japan.” Ah. He was talking about the movement, wasn’t he? _Kare wo kaeshite_ , the movement that called for Daken’s release from the US. “I’d have been happy to put him on a plane for Madripoor and be done with it, but no, you had to move pawns in the shadow. Now we have a potential diplomatic incident in our hands, and no one wants that.” Raze was fuming, but ne still said nothing, waiting to see what would Colcord say next. Laura’s grip on Quentin’s arm – she still hadn’t let go of him – was vice-like, but Quentin felt nothing.

He just waited, waited, waited for the next words. Despite the burning wings of fury clamoring in his ears, an eerie calmness had descended upon him. _This is it_ , he thought, _the crossroads_.

“I was thinking along these lines,” began Colcord. “Your father will be sent back to Japan, with many apologies and careful wording,” he tutted when Raze made as if to speak. Maiko patted her sibling’s arm. “Thank you, Miss Arakawa. He will be sent back publicly, because otherwise people would say it’s all for show and in reality, the poor sod he’s still being kept in some dark American dungeon, suffering kami knows what,” he sneered. Raze was bristling, struggling against nir sister’s hold. “We’ll make sure the Japanese government is amenable to a deal with you. I don’t think you’ll have problems. I’m quite sure Miss Arakawa still has contacts there, or she’d have never managed to pull that stunt of hers.” He talked as if he had no dealings with the Japanese government. Of course, he could be faking, but if he wasn’t – who was it that was treating with it, as the Yakuza’s leader, Kazuro, had apparently told Maiko?

They’d suspected the Hand had something to do with it, but they’d also thought the Hand was working with Edmondson still. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the slaughter in the hideout had convinced the ninjas not to work with the US anymore.

Or maybe Colcord was just faking his ignorance.

Maiko spoke quietly. “And our end of the bargain?”

Their end of the bargain was a bit convoluted. Colcord said he’d keep track of Daken’s whereabouts once he was in Japan, thus confirming that he had at least some dealings with the government there. As soon as Daken was handed over to Raze, Madripoor was to lower the shields. After all, said Colcord, if the island was taken as soon as Daken was released, someone was bound to do the math.

“As if you’d care if someone does the math,” said Raze.

Colcord shrugged. “The UN doesn’t take kindly to this kind of bargain.”

No, of course it didn’t. It wouldn’t look good to give away a prisoner in order to acquire an island country. This subterfuge was necessary, and Colcord, and Edmondson with him, had to trust Raze not to say anything, just as Raze had to trust them not to say anything about Mystique’s death.

It was a gamble, on both parts, but the game was rigged. Colcord was convinced he had the upper hand, by having Daken in his hands; but Raze had fed him a lie, so they were on equal grounds.

“All right,” said Raze. “We’ll do it your way.”

Maiko shook her head and squeezed nir arm, still playing the lawyer. “Mr Darkhölme, wait.”

“What’s to wait?” Raze wrenched nemself free. “My father’s in there.” Still playing naïve, rash youth.

“Yes, but we don’t know if they’ll truly give him back.” Maiko looked straight at Colcord. “You could give us a clone posing as him, and we’d never know until too late.”

Colcord laughed. It really tested Quentin’s patience, the way he threw his head back and slapped a hand on his desk, uncaring of what such a display would look like. When he calmed down, there were tears of mirth in his eyes, and he dried them with a handkerchief.

“God, that’s a nice idea,” he said. “Send one of them to assassinate you, yes. And then? Leaving you with someone you can interrogate?”

“At that stage, you wouldn’t care,” said Maiko primly. “You already told me you have other compounds. You’d simply move everything away.”

“Miss Arakawa, you’re giving me ideas.” Colcord laughed again, briefly, and Laura tensed, maybe recalling her own past as a child assassin.

What Maiko had said seemed all too likely, and she was trying to find a way to ascertain it sooner rather than later. If Colcord had sent Daken back immediately they’d have immediately known if it was really him, but with this middle passage they couldn’t be sure until it was, indeed, too late.

“This is really entertaining,” said Colcord, “but I have things to do. As you can imagine.” He smirked in a way that made Raze growl and that almost prompted Quentin to burn the projector to crisps. “I’m sure we can find a way. I already told you I’ll give him back publicly; I’m sure you’ll manage to send someone to make sure of his identity.”

“That’s very accommodating of you,” murmured Maiko.

“When you’re being _so_ accommodating? Of course.” Colcord returned his attention to Raze. “So, Mr Darkhölme? Is everything to your satisfaction?”

Raze crossed nir arms, glaring daggers at the man. “Yeah.”

“Good, good.” Colcord nodded briskly, his eyes glinting. “We’ll keep in touch. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Darkhölme, Miss Arakawa,” he bowed his head mockingly, but Raze wasn’t done yet.

“I want to see him,” ne said sullenly, child-like. Colcord stopped short of rolling his eyes.

“See him? You’ll see him soon.”

“I want to see him, please.” Nir lower lip trembled, ne looked ready to burst out crying. Quentin wasn’t sure it was all an act. “Can I see him? Please –” Certainly the plea tasted bitter on nir tongue, but the need was very real, and everyone in the room burnt with it. Laura had said that, given how Colcord had seemed intent on making Raze suffer with his request to betray nir mother in order to save nir father, he might be inclined to torture nem more by showing nem nir suffering father. If Colcord didn’t do it on his own, they’d decided, Raze was to beg for it.

And ne was doing it so now. But it wasn’t an act. The tears streaking nir cheeks were, Quentin knew that, very real.

Maiko placed a hand on nir arm. Comforting, but business-like. She stared at Colcord. “I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request.”

Colcord did roll his eyes this time, but he seemed to be drinking voraciously the sight of a crying teenager. Fucking bastard. When this was over, Quentin would take great pleasure in burning him alive.

“It isn’t, no. But the poor man is resting.” Colcord sighed apologetically. “I’m told he heals faster that way. You want to get him back sooner rather than later, don’t you, Mr Darkhölme?”

Truly, Quentin had no idea how the siblings managed to keep their wits. On his part, the instinct to burn the man to ashes was only getting stronger.

Colcord was cruel. He knew those words wouldn’t deter Raze, but would only make nem beg harder. And that ne did, to the bastard’s great satisfaction.

“Just a few moments,” ne whimpered, wringing nir hands, “He doesn’t need to wake up, I just want to see him, please – please, I haven’t seen him in months, you’ve had him for months, and you’re giving him away anyway, what do you _care_ …” ne trailed off, breath labored; ne didn’t fake the sobbing.

Colcord waved a hand. “That’s true. Calm down, Mr Darkhölme. Here he is.” And without further preparation they were treated to another terrible sight.

Quentin felt his feet bring him closer to the holo, as if being pulled, but he was kept in place by Laura. At least one of them was thinking straight; even if a glance at her revealed how weak a hold of herself she had. She was ashen, her lips curled up in an angry snarl that didn’t reach her eyes, which were full of tears.

Quentin focused on the projection. In truth, it wasn’t as terrible as the other one, where Daken was awake, his empty eyes in full view.

He was, as Colcord had said, resting. Probably a drug-induced sleep, if Colcord’s words about him healing faster were to be believed. His features were slack; he looked so vulnerable, so lost. _I’ll get him back. I must_. Quentin closed his hands into fists, kept the flames at bay. Daken was still naked, and Quentin ran his gaze over him, searching and cataloguing any sign of abuse. The bruises shone ugly and violet in the harsh light of the room Daken was kept in; the cuts seemed to be healing, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. They ran across his chest, his stomach; Quentin didn’t want to think about what that entailed.

He was strapped to a bed, not to the surgery table they’d seen last. Drips vanished in his arms. His chest rose and fell faintly; he was alive.

Fast as it came, the live feed – Quentin hoped it was so, anyway – was taken from them. Colcord reappeared, a look of studied boredom on his face.

“Satisfied?”

Tearing his eyes away from the holo, Quentin glanced at the siblings. Maiko was mostly keeping it together, it seemed; the little unease she couldn’t hide could be taken as what any sane person would feel for a fellow human being. Raze – Raze was another thing entirely.

Ne was obviously trying to stay collected, even knowing that feeding Colcord a show would work better. The end result was a painful grimace that did nothing to hide how thoroughly stricken ne was. Of course, ne’d seen Daken already, on the other video, and knew what to expect. But seeing it live was another thing entirely. Quentin knew what ne felt; knowing that Daken was there, worlds away but still reachable, knowing that it could take so little to speak to him, to reassure him, to promise everything would be all right. To promise that he would be out of there soon.

But Daken must know that, Quentin tried to rationalize, to reassure himself; upon hearing Maiko’s voice, he must have understood that they were working to get him out. That must be why he’d tried to communicate, to warn her off.

They hadn’t heeded his request; they were going to save him, and the future be damned. Daken wasn’t going to die there and then, as he wanted. Quentin wouldn’t have it. He’d save him.

They’d save him.

 

* * *

 

Once the communication was over – with the promise they’d hear from Colcord soon – they crumbled.

Maiko was the hardest to watch; her previous breakdown had cracked the mask she’d been wearing for months, and she was now free to show her anguish. She let out a long wail that culminated in a loud sob, and she rocked back and forth, her hands on her face, until Raze turned to her and pulled her in a rough embrace, whimpering nemself. Ne hid nir face among her hair, clutched at her shoulder, shushed her softly between nir own sobs.

It was too private, too raw, and Quentin turned away from them. He mustn’t access his own grief, he mustn’t succumb to it. He had to keep it together, for Daken’s sake – and for the sake of everyone in the room, of the world itself. Already he felt the urge to give in to his anger, could taste ash on his tongue; but he couldn’t, so he didn’t. He focused on Laura instead, on her dull eyes and shaking fists, on the claws resurfacing from her knuckles; and on Charles, white with concentration. The boy gave off psychic energy like it was nothing, opening himself to Quentin in ways he hadn’t up until that moment, faint echoes in the current lapping at the edges of Quentin’s mind.

Quentin didn’t plunge in. It wasn’t the time; it wasn’t the place. But he heard and smelt and saw, blood and fury, sheer hatred and rage barely curbed. He’d been right; Charles was reining Raze in. Raze was murderous, unhinged, and Charles was the pillar against which nir violence crashed. It was unhealthy, but it must be like this for now. Later, Quentin told himself. When Daken was back, Quentin would take matters into his hands, lecture Charles, ease Raze into peace of mind. The shapeshifter was in sore need of a therapist.

They all were.

Charles caught him staring and blinked, his walls raised so fast Quentin had no time to say anything. He must have sent something Raze’s way, because ne raised nir head and threw Quentin a look of defiance, daring him to react.

Quentin didn’t. It wasn’t the time, nor the place.

Laura let herself fall on a chair. “He’s planning something.”

Raze let go of nir sister, rubbing angrily at nir eyes. “No shit. I couldn’t smell him, but I sure as hell could hear him.”

Laura nodded. “We must be ready. When he hands Daken back –” she broke off, stared into nothing, gritted her teeth. “I’d strike then, if I were him. With all of us focused on that, he’d be free to send in an army that can bleed and not die.” Her eyes were ice.

“You think they’d send the clones here.” Quentin grimaced.

“Wouldn’t you?” Maiko seemed to be calming down; she dried her tears with the back of her hands. “We’re at our lowest point, or so he thinks. Edmondson would want to take the island fast, and the kids can give him that. I’d almost prefer it,” she mused, “At least that way we can save some of them, maybe interrogate them.” Her gaze run to her sibling, who’d bared nir teeth. “To ascertain where are the others,” Maiko added quietly.

Raze nodded stiffly and then got up, paced nervously in front of her. “If they really do that,” ne said with a low voice as ne abandoned the masculine aspect and turned into nemself, “If they attack during the handover, thinking all our resources focused on that –”

“- they’re going to be sorely disappointed,” concluded Laura. They’d find not only the island’s security, but the X-Men waiting for them. Daken’s horrible stunt had given this advantage, at least; nobody could even think that the X-Men would still cooperate with someone affiliated with “the man who had abused Phoenix”.

The thing that had left Quentin reeling for months had been turned into a strength.

Let it be useful, then. Let it save Daken.

 

* * *

 

Waiting was the worst part.

It was the longest days of his life, counting even those long months with no news.

When he wasn’t busy with meetings to organize the resistance, he holed himself up in the room Maiko had given him, at her same floor. Laura did the same, but sometimes he heard her move about in the siblings’ living room. It was only right; she had to stay with her family, support Maiko and Raze. Quentin had no right to be there, but the siblings had graciously allowed him to stay. The other X-Men staying in the tower – Rogue, Robert, Katherine, and there were talks of someone else moving in until it all settled – had been assigned rooms on other floors, but he entertained no illusion that his presence was welcome. They suffered him, probably, only because of Daken.

So he didn’t mingle with the siblings, even if Laura urged him to sometimes, and he spent way too much time staring at the two videos of Daken, agonizing over every second of them, over his gaunt face, his tortured body.

Together with the Yakuza leader, Kazuro, whom apparently was well loved by the siblings and Quentin sort of remembered from the day it had all began – it seemed an age ago – in Tokyo, Maiko was trying to work out a way to shorten Daken’s stay in Japan. Kazuro had a man in the government, and seemed confident they’d bring Daken back to Madripoor in little time.

Of course, Daken had to be sent to Japan first.

And so it was that they waited for Edmondson to make his move, announce he was going to give in and hand Daken over to the Japanese government. It was a long, strenuous wait, chipping slowly at Quentin’s resolve.

The siblings didn’t fare better. Sometimes the faint echo from the mental link shared by Raze and Charles echoed through his skull, and he was treated to the frail reality that was Raze’s mind. It was a carefully woven balance that wouldn’t last, and Quentin hoped to God that news would come soon.

Then it did, and it left them speechless with rage.

“Sendai?” repeated Raze, fuming, staring at the TV in the conference room. “They’re sending him off to Sendai?”

_And tomorrow, too_. Quentin’s chest ached painfully. He was going to see Daken in less than twenty hours. He was terrified and overjoyed beyond belief.

“Obviously they did their homework,” said Maiko through gritted teeth, her shoulders terribly tense. Her partner Chie laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Maiko exhaled. “What sort of message do they want to convey, I wonder.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, she stared at Edmondson.

“It’s a gauntlet,” Laura shrugged, but her expression was far from relaxed. “They know where he spent his childhood. It’s a way to rile us up, sending him to a place with such significance.” Her eyes flashed. “They _are_ going to attack while we focus on that airport.”

The next hours were hectic. They reviewed their plans in case of attack and secured the presence of Yakuza members throughout the airport – including at the very gate, because the government and the airport had given clearance to journalists and a small group of representatives of _Kare wo kaeshite_.

They planned efficiently; the only setback happened when both Raze and Quentin expressed their intention to be at the gate as well. In truth, no one dared question their motives, but rather the logistics. Raze’s place was in Madripoor. Ne could take whatever aspect ne wanted, nir safety wasn’t an issue, but the airport was obviously a no-teleportation zone, and Maiko didn’t feel safe letting nem roam an area that would be swarmed with US operatives. As for Quentin, he couldn’t blend in and would be recognized immediately, something they didn’t want to happen, obviously, or else their web of lies would be swept away.

But they couldn’t be deterred. Of course Quentin didn’t want to destroy everything they’d worked for and risk Daken’s life, but he couldn’t sit still and wait in the tower, knowing he could see Daken again, in the flesh, maybe even exchange a glance with him, reassure him –

Broo, who was following the procedures from the school, alongside with the rest of the team, came to his rescue. “I have image inducers,” he said from his holo, and that was it.

They’d be at the gate, waiting for Daken. Hoping he’d feel he wasn’t alone, even if he couldn’t see them.

Later, as Quentin prepared for bed – or rather, as he prepared to spend the night as he always did, staring at Daken’s videos until he passed out from lack of sleep – Broo came to visit him.

“Why come in person?” Quentin asked his friend, but he let him pass. Broo entered the room with scientific curiosity, his big head turning left and right to study the furniture, and the state Quentin had left it in. “You could have simply sent the inducer my way.” Quentin closed the door.

Broo shrugged, still deeply absorbed. “I wanted to see you. My God!” With a few quick steps, he reached the projector and stood in observation of the video.

They shared a moment of silence, each of them focused on Daken. It was the first video; Maiko’s voice was growing panicked as she addressed a seemingly catatonic Daken. Quentin gritted his teeth. _Soon_ , he tried to reassure himself, _I’ll see him soon_. But no words could make the pain in his chest disappear.

Broo turned to look at him, his red eyes glistening with worry. “Tell me you don’t torture yourself with this, Quentin.”

Quentin kept silent.

Broo sighed. “I should have come sooner.” He shut the projector off. Quentin protested, but Broo shushed him. “I imagine you’ve watched it a thousand times and more.”

“I need –”

“- to sleep, that’s for sure.” Broo pushed him quite firmly in the direction of the bed. “It’s clear you can’t be left to your own devices and we fooled ourselves with thinking Laura would keep an eye on you.” He paused. “She has enough to worry about as it is.” Shaking his head, he pushed harder, till Quentin’s knees hit the bed.

He allowed Broo his maneuvering. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

“Quentin.” Broo caught him by the shoulders and there was grave concern in his voice. “Tomorrow is important. You need to rest.” And he produced a sleeping pill.

Quentin stared at it. “Did Jubilation put you up to this? Is it going to make me sleep until tomorrow night?” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. The woman didn’t agree with his going to the airport the following morning. At least he could keep an eye on Raze and Charles, though – because of course Charles had said he’d go too, likely to keep an eye on his sibling.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Broo made him sit, then turned in search of some water. “I know you weren’t sleeping well in the Danger Room, Idie told me,” he said as he located a bottle. “And later, well, we didn’t want to impose, but I know how you look like when you stay awake, Quentin.” He handed it to him, then offered him the pill. “And I know you’re worried about tomorrow, but you need to be sharp. You know that Daken wouldn’t want you to torture yourself like this.”

The name was enough to bring a sob to his lips. Quentin’s shoulders sagged and he stared at his friend’s hand. “I just – I can’t sit here anymore, I can’t take it. I need to see him, I – I –”

“I know,” said Broo kindly. His voice had never been so soft. His wings hummed comfortingly. “Which is why you need to rest. Be prepared and at your best. Yes?” He cocked his head to the side, then squeezed Quentin’s shoulder. “We’ll free him, Quentin. I promise.”

It wasn’t enough to ease the pain in his heart, the pain that sucked everything away. It wasn’t even enough to silence the cacophony in his ears. But Broo was right, of course, and Quentin knew it.

 

* * *

 

The pill made him sleep soundly for ten hours.

He’d dreamed; he had vague recollections of fire and tears and broken promises. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was just that: dreams. Nightmares. Fantasies that held no meaning, that wouldn’t occur.

Today would prove that. He’d see Daken for the first time in months, and they’d work to get him back, and soon, maybe in days, Quentin would hold him in his arms. He’d fix everything, he’d be there for him. Daken would heal, and Quentin would be there with him, every step of the way.

_Fantasies._

He resolutely _did_ _not_ think of the fate still waiting, of the time that would be running out. He didn’t think of it, because it wouldn’t happen. Quentin would change everything, and the future that Daken had been told about wouldn’t come to pass. He’d make sure of it.

His thoughts were of this variety all morning, and when the time came he burned with resolve.

Everything would be all right.

They teleported to Sendai Airport, he, Raze and Charles, and went through security with fake IDs and business-like attitude, posing as bloggers.

The gate was swarming with people: it seemed there were reporters from all over the world, speaking simultaneously to their viewers. Some were interviewing the representatives from _Kare wo kaeshite_ , who stood strong and tall at the windows, in full sight of whoever came from the ramp, holding their signs and posters. Police surveyed the crowd, and there were soldiers too, ready to take Daken and escort him wherever the government wanted to hide him.

He found a quiet spot from which they could still see the area outside, and began his charade with the siblings, starting a livefeed; but they needn’t bother, because no one was paying attention to them.

Still, it was important to maintain a cover, so they went on, speaking of nothing, his own mind occupied with the upcoming event. He knew that Raze felt the same, that ne wasn’t putting much heart in the deceit. Who could blame nem?

Charles was another thing entirely. He was focused, exactly because his sibling wasn’t. At least the airport didn’t have a telepathic shield, or Raze would have fared much worse.

He had to put an end to the situation with the siblings. It wasn’t healthy.

_Soon_. _As soon as everything resolves –_

At some point a jet came into view. His heart leapt in his chest and he forgot everything about those children, the people around him, forgot he should keep up with the fake livefeed and stood staring as the plane parked.

It was surely the longest moments of his life. He held his breath as the cargo hold door opened and –

Two soldiers appeared, but it didn’t matter. Standing between them – held upright by the soldiers, but standing nonetheless – was Daken.

_Papa_ , came a fleeting thought. A brief glance at Raze told him that the young man had stopped breathing as well, his eyes fixed on the figure beyond the glass. Quentin sent Charles a little nudge, to remind him to protect Raze’s mind, or whatever it was that he did – and then he brushed them off, his gaze glued to the man so close, yet so distant. His chest hurt so much, and not just because there was no air in his lungs, but it wouldn’t do to die from lack of oxygen, not now, not after so many months, not now that he saw Daken again, so he forced himself to breathe.

Daken was walking. It was little, uncertain steps, as if he hadn’t walked for months, and he was guided – more like manhandled, Quentin bristled – by the two soldiers, but he was _walking_. His face was still terribly emaciated, he was so pale, and his eyes were cast down, but he was walking. He wore a standard prison uniform, and he was collared, and bound, but he was there, there in front of him, so close, coming closer, and soon he’d enter from that door, he’d be so close Quentin could almost touch him, could even snatch him and fly away if he so chose, damn the consequences, and he felt he could scream from the joy rushing through his veins, from the sheer relief, from the exhilarated feeling of being here, now, with him, free and soon to be back home, with Quentin, to be held and comforted and healed, Quentin would take care of him, he’d be there for him, he’d do everything –

Daken faltered; he was urged on but he stumbled, fell forward, but he was still held by the soldiers, one taking an arm, one the other, so he was in full display, his legs having given way under him, he almost looked crucified, and there was a spot –

A dark spot, red, getting larger, on his chest.

Time stood still and for a moment it didn’t register, not really. He could hear the screams, he certainly heard Raze’s screaming mind, but all he could do was stand there, stand and stare at the stain.

Then the world kept moving on its axis, and Quentin sprang to action.

He didn’t think. He smashed the windows and flew to Daken, uncaring of who might be hurt in the process, of the distant shouts coming from the gate behind him.

_No. Oh, please, not again._

The soldiers were flung away from Daken like puppets. Quentin caught Daken as he fell and lowered him gently to the ground, went to his knees beside him, tore the orange shirt with his telekinesis. There was a hole in his chest, dark blood pumping out of it, and Quentin pressed a palm on it, screeches tearing at his ears.

_Not again. Not again!_

_Broo!_ He called out frantically to his friend, _Come here, come here now, come –_

He registered Broo’s answer, knew he was on the move already, but it’d be late, oh, too late –

Daken gasped, wide eyes locking with his, those bright blue eyes so filled with pain –

Quentin turned the image inducer off and Daken’s eyes welled with tears.

He opened his mouth a little, tried to speak, but nothing came out of it. He let out a sob that made him cough up blood, filling Quentin with dread.

“Don’t talk.” He did what he hadn’t ever dared to do, what he’d sworn he’d never do, and he brushed Daken’s mind with his, infusing calmness, and reassurances, words that seemed so wrong and fake. _It’s going to be all right. I swear._ There was so much blood, too much, his hand was sleek with it. Sleek and red.

_Broo. Broo!_

He reached out and tore the fabric of reality, materialized his friend right there where he needed him.

“The collar!” Broo shouted and Quentin cursed himself: it blocked Daken’s powers. He vanished it, registered a sudden wariness from his friend, and he screeched, keeping his eyes on Daken:

“Help him!” To Daken he whispered, soothingly: _It’s going to be all right, I swear, it’s going to be all right –_

Daken smiled weakly. _Of course_ , he thought. _You’re here_. And then –

And then he was gone. His eyes went dull, the smile fixed on his face, and his mind wasn’t there anymore. _No._ Quentin searched for it frantically, reaching out fully, extending his own, but it wasn’t there. Daken’s mind wasn’t there. There was nothing. _No. No!_

But he’d heal. Right? He’d heal. They just had to wait a few hours, put him somewhere more comfortable, wait, wait, wait…

_Not again, I thought- I’d thought_ …

Those bright blue eyes were empty. They stared up at Quentin, no life behind them.

_He’ll heal. He’ll heal. He’ll heal._

_He won’t. You know it._ Tendrils, smoke, echoes. Faint memories, and for a moment, in the blazing white, he understood.

_Not again!_

Daken lay unmoving in his arms, dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next: Red._ A single word, screamed with a thousand anguished voices.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bloody aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’re still with me, my dear readers.
> 
> It’s been going in this direction for years. It’s been hinted at throughout the chapters, and it’s written right there on the fic summary, but I know it must have come as a shock, because that’s exactly how I felt when I finally got there and had to kill Daken.
> 
> I hope you trust me with the rest.
> 
> Now, as with the last chapter, there’s a spoilery **trigger warning** for this one as well. Like the last time, simply hover your mouse over the symbol below to see it.
> 
> **SPOILER ALERT** ! <\-- Only mouse-over this symbol if you need to read the trigger warning. 
> 
>  

36.

“And oh, poor Atlas,  
The world’s a beast of a burden  
You’ve been holding up a long time.  
And all this longing,  
And the ships are left to rust –”

Florence + the Machine – _What the water gave me_

 

 

Someone was screaming.

Ne saw red, red, red, and someone was screaming, a loud, shrill sound. It was all around nem; there was nothing else, no way to go, nothing to turn off the noise. Ne wanted it to stop, ne desperately wanted it to stop, but it went on, and on, and on.

Blood. Everything was red, so red, black and red, and the sound wouldn’t stop. It seemed to waver at times but then it began again, stronger than before. And it hurt. Nir throat was raw, nir ears rang painfully. Every inch, every nerve in nem was screaming. There was nothing else, just the pain and the screams. Nothing else –

_Raze_.

Scalding hot, in the center of it all, a figure made of purple light. It tended a hand towards nem.

_Raze, focus. Focus on yourself. Take this feeling and center yourself. What did you see? What did you hear? Where are you? What’s happening?_ The voice, though soft, seemed strained. It fought against the screams, a contralto against the high-pitched sounds.

_What did you see?_

_Red_. A single word, screamed with a thousand anguished voices.

_Yes. Where are you?_

_Red!_ Ne curled up in a ball, white noise all around nem. It hurt. It hurt to breathe, to think. Where was ne? Ne was –

_I need you_ , said the voice. _I need you to come back_.

_No._ Ne was wailing, wailing in the dark, in the cold. _No, no, no._

_What did you hear?_

Nothing. Ne’d heard nothing!

_Naniwa zuni – Sakuya kono hana – Fuyu-gomori –_

Ne recoiled. _Stop! You can’t – can’t_ –

_What did you hear?_ The voice kept on, relentless, unmerciful, as the poems went on and on. _What did you hear?_

_Nothing! I heard –_

Nothing. Not a sound; ne hadn’t heard a sound. Ne’d heard the absence of a sound.

_Good. Where are you? Come back to where are you._

But ne couldn’t. It’d be better to stay here, in the dark, with the screams. It’d be better to stay there forever.

_I need you to come back._ The voice faltered, disturbed. _I can’t move you, I need you to come back!_

_Leave me. Leave me here._ In the dark, with the screams. With the red light, and the white noise.

_It’s not white noise._ Something pulled and ne struggled, tried to wrench nemself free, but it didn’t let nem go. _It’s the silence between a heartbeat and the next, prolonged forever. It’s the sound you heard when_ –

_No! No! Don’t –_

\- _when your father’s heart stopped beating_.

_No!_

_Yes._

And it pulled, and it dragged, and it yanked nem to reality, to the warm harsh reality of late spring in Japan. To Sendai. To the airport. To the ramp.

To shouts and utter chaos. There were things flying around, broken glass and equipment and people and airplanes, a bluish hue around them.

_We need to_ _leave_.

The sharp command made nem realize ne was being held; nir nostrils were filled with Charlie’s scent and it calmed nem enough that ne only repeated, confused: “Leave?”

“He’s going to explode, and we don’t want to be here when he does.”

Who was going to explode and why would they –?

_He’s dead_. The thought knocked the wind out of nem. Dead, father was dead, ne’d heard his heart stop beating.

Ne searched for him frantically even as ne felt Charlie start to drag nem away. _Stop, stop, I need to see him, I –_

_We need to_ leave _!_ But in the next moment Charlie gasped, let nem go, and bent over.

_Charlie?_

Charlie keened, blood coming out of his nose. Alarm filled Raze and ne finally caught up. Father had died. Died in Phoenix’s arms. Phoenix, the telepath. The host of a cosmic power. And he was –

He was making everything and everyone float around.

_There he is_. Ne flinched at the sight of nir father, nir father still and unmoving in Phoenix’s arms, covered with blood.

Phoenix was still, too. Still and unmoving, his eyes – black eyes – focused on father’s face.

“Quentin!”

It was doctor Broo, only a few steps away from them. He held his hands up pleadingly.

“Quentin, stop. Calm down. You’re hurting people!”

And he was. Ne could smell the fear, of course, but ne smelt blood too. What could be expected, when one was flung directly against hard concrete?

Behind nem, Charlie screamed.

_Kill them all. Burn them all. Burn them, burn them, burn them_ – Ne was consumed with the thought, nir lips curled up over nir teeth, nir claws itched to come out and stab and eviscerate and burn, burn them all –

It ended as suddenly as it had begun. Charlie was whimpering, his breath ragged. Where had those thoughts come from?

Stupid question. There were, suddenly, flames all around them.

“Quentin!” Doctor Broo shouted. Raze zeroed in on the powerful telepath, his eyes black surfaces, his features frozen in a mask of sheer pain. “He wouldn’t want this! Daken wouldn’t want this!”

_Papa_. Raze bit down a sob.

The voice came from everywhere. “I tried.” Phoenix’s lips moved, but it reverberated through nir very bones, it couldn’t possibly come from his mouth. “Now I have to go over it again.”

Doctor Broo cocked his head. “Quentin?”

“He’s gone.” Phoenix – _the_ Phoenix raised its host’s head. “Deep, deep into his mind. You’ll find no answers here, broodling.” It cradled father’s body. “Now be quiet.” Raze felt the hair at the back of nir neck rise.

But doctor Broo paid the obvious threat no heed. “Quentin! I know you’re in there! Fight it, for goodness’ sake!” As he spoke, a space between his wings opened, revealing a sort of shotgun, glistening behind a translucent membrane. “It’s not too late, we can –”

“We shall burn,” came that ominous voice, crawling inside Raze’s skin. Something near them exploded, debris flew everywhere, but there was a dome of light around Phoenix and the doctor. Raze shielded Charlie with nir body, felt nir skin tear and then reknit itself. “Everything shall burn, we shall cleanse –”

“No!” Doctor Broo reached behind himself and caught the gun with a shaking hand. Raze suddenly knew what he intended to do; ne wanted to scream at him to run, but the good doctor was made of steel. “I won’t let you –”

“Let me?” The sudden burning ice in the voice made nem want to cower and beg forgiveness. Ne watched, transfixed, unable to look away, as doctor Broo levitated, his limbs contorting in unnatural ways. The gun fell from his hand. “I am fire, and life incarnate. I am Phoenix, and you, little broodling, are nothing! Less than nothing!”

Doctor Broo went out with less than a sigh, his body crumbling to ashes.

He’d always been so kind. He’d talked so softly as he examined Raze, a lifetime ago. And now –

Phoenix returned his attention to father, cupping gently his face. The heat intensified. The flames looked wilder, bigger, about to consume everything around them.

Raze took an uncertain step, then another. Behind nem, Charlie was wheezing with exertion. Ne didn’t know what he was doing, what he was trying to do, but it must have something to do with Phoenix. Phoenix was hurting Charlie. He – it – had killed doctor Broo, and it talked of burning everything. There was still no X-Man in sight, and ne was the only one that could do anything.

It couldn’t really hurt nem. Ne healed.

Another step, then another. Another and ne’d be within range of the gun, could take it –

Phoenix spoke. “Don’t do that.”

“Try and stop me.” Raze took another step, every instinct in nem yelling to turn around and flee. But what good would fleeing be, if the whole world burned? “Like you did with the doctor. Come on –”

Phoenix raised his head. His eyes – they were normal again, wide and filled with pain, but then they turned black. “I’m trying!” He snapped, hugging father closer. “He wouldn’t, wouldn’t want –” His eyes went normal yet again, as if Phoenix – the man, the vessel, the maddening bastard that clutched at father and couldn’t even hold it together enough not to let the world burn – was finally trying to fight back.

_He wouldn’t want it to burn, with you and your sister on it_. The voice seared itself in nir brain.

Raze caught the gun, knowing ne could do it only because Phoenix… the man… Quentin Quire was fighting, doctor Broo had been right and he was there, still there, and he was fighting. “Papa wouldn’t want the world to burn.”

_I’m trying to set everything right!_

_Not like this._

It was like listening to two different recordings of the same music, overlapping in nir head. Like hearing a man fight with himself.

A man with nuclear power at his disposal. Raze raised the gun and pointed it at Phoenix’s head. Ne couldn’t shoot him in the heart, not while father lay dead from that same wound.

Phoenix pressed a kiss to father’s brow, his eyes a startling hazel. _Do it. Please._

Raze pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

 

 

Maiko didn’t have the time to process what was happening.

She was in the conference room, her eyes on the livefeed from the airport, her ears on the communications between the various teams on Madripoor’s borders. They thought the attack would come from the sea, so they’d deployed most of their resources there.

Her heart had leapt in her chest when she’d seen otousan come out of the jet. He looked worse for wear, but at least he was alive. She’d felt Chie’s hand on her arm, and she’d extended hesitantly her own, a peace offering, hoping Chie would forgive her, would at least wrap her arms around her. These past few days had been horrific and more hectic than ever, but she’d always had the strong presence of Chie to turn to. They still hadn’t talked, but these minute gestures told her that her partner would always be there.

Then otousan had fallen, a red stain on his chest. She’d stopped breathing, knowing, on an intellectual level, what it probably was. A gunshot.

Then hell had broken loose, the livefeed showing confusion, chaos. When the cameras had finally focused on something again, she’d seen Phoenix holding otousan in his arms. People on the livefeed were talking, screaming, shouting, but at least they kept recording. They were too far, but it seemed Phoenix was trying to apply pressure to the wound, stop the flow of blood, but it wouldn’t do a damn thing if otousan wasn’t brought to a hospital soon. Why didn’t Phoenix do that, instead of kneeling there like a damn idiot?

Oh. Right. The airport had teleportation shields. And fly, or indeed move otousan in any way while he was like this, could prove more fatal than helpful.

But still, he ought to do something!

Maiko couldn’t do anything. She could only stand there and stare, helpless, useless, as her father bled to death, thousands of miles away.

_This is all my fault_. How hadn’t she seen it? Why hadn’t she realized that the choice of Sendai bore more significance, that they’d never planned to give back otousan alive –

The Brood appeared suddenly, out of thin air. He moved immediately to otousan’s side, but it was too late. Maiko knew it. She knew that with heart shots, it was a matter of seconds and pure, sheer luck.

The Brood moved back, his head lowered. Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why was he just standing there –

Oh, she knew perfectly well why, didn’t she?

They would pay. Oh, they would pay, they would burn, she’d murder them all in their sleep, launch an attack on the White House, burn them all, burn them all –

They’d die, all of them –

“Restrain her!” came a voice. It sounded far away, buried by the burning fury. “Restrain her!”

They’d die, they’d all die, she would murder them all, she’d burn them all, she’d take them and torture them, one by one, make them bleed, make them cry out, ask for mercy, but she wouldn’t give it, she’d laugh in their faces and hurt them more, more, more, until they were a sniveling mess, a bundle of broken nerves, nothing human about them, nothing at all, and she’d draw it out, more, more, more, until there was no breath left in them, and then she’d desecrate their bodies, she’d expose them to the world, a warning, she’d kill them, she’d annihilate them, she’d destroy them, she’d burn –

With a gasp she came to; the violence of her own thoughts made her retch. She vomited all over herself, for she was tied to a chair. Kazuro looked at her warily from across the room.

“Are you all right?” he asked her. His hand was bleeding, she realized; and on the floor were her knives.

She paled. “What happened?” Had she lost control so badly?

_Otousan_. It was like a shock of cold water. _Otousan_ –

Kazuro shook his head. He was pale beyond measure, lines of grief visible on his features. Then he turned to the side. “It calmed down.”

“Yes.” It was Lee’s voice, coming from a radio. “We’re coming, I sent a team to Sendai.”

“Yes.” Kazuro kept his back to Maiko for long moments and she looked around. There were her guards, and some of Kazuro’s own people. Some of them seemed injured, but not too badly. All looked exhausted, and none of them looked her way.

She’d known them for years.

“Kazuro, what’s happening?” There was a nagging feeling, at the back of her mind, that something was seriously wrong, but she didn’t know what. “Untie me.”

“In a moment.” Kazuro finally turned to look at her, his hands held up in a soothing manner. His eyes screamed uneasiness.

“What’s happening?” She demanded. _Beside my father’s death_. A sob escaped her lips.

_Don’t break down. Don’t break down now_.

Kazuro caught a chair and sat on it. “Ryuujin died,” he said slowly, softly, as if speaking to a child.

“Yes. I know.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “Is that why you tied me? What did I do? Did I injure you?”

Kazuro waved the bleeding hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does –”

“It wasn’t you,” he interrupted her. “What you experienced is – Wolverine said it was Phoenix. Broadcasting a strong, furious urge to kill.”

Maiko paled. That must be a direct response to otousan’s death.

“He lost control? Are we in danger? The airport –” She glanced at the screens, but they were black. “Raze!” She cursed herself for not thinking of nem sooner. “Raze was there –”

“We don’t know.” Kazuro shut briefly his eyes. “As you heard, Wolverine sent a team to deal with Phoenix. She could do it only now. It was difficult minutes, the… the suggestion was strong –”

She suddenly understood what he’d meant by _broadcasting_. “Everyone on Earth turned against each other,” she whispered, horrified.

“Yes and no. We don’t know,” he hesitated, then continued, “She said you were more affected because you were already suffering. Perhaps it only worked on people like you, or on violent people –” He looked around, at the men in the room. She couldn’t have injured all of them; they must have fought between themselves.

A room full of assassins, and all of them still stood. Something was obviously wrong here.

“And there was help,” Kazuro said, so softly that her heart began racing. He was trying to comfort her. Something else had happened. “Telepaths all over the world shielded the minds of as many people as they could, or so she – managed to explain to me –”

“She?” She couldn’t help the shrill quality her voice took.

Telepaths. Chie. Where was Chie?

“But the strain was too much and… not everyone managed to…”

No. _No_.

“Where’s Chie?” she demanded, knowing the answer in her heart. But no – no, it wasn’t possible, it wasn’t possible, a trick, a lie, a sick joke, it must be a lie!

“She protected us,” he said clearly, a weary sadness in his eyes. _No. No, I refuse, it’s a lie,_ _I refuse_ … “She protected the entire island –”

“ _Where is she?_ ”

With an air of defeat, he pointed behind her.

So they hadn’t freed her yet because she’d see. She’d see Chie’s _corpse_. And they’d wanted to warn her first. Okay. She could deal with it. She could deal with this…

She felt a raw sob come out of her mouth. Not Chie, too. Not otousan, and Chie, on the same day.

And Raze. She had no idea where ne was, if even ne was still alive.

Tears were coming freely now, and she couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t stop shaking. She’d lost everyone. She’d lost everyone…

She was aware that they were untying her, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t turn around, nor could she meet the gaze of her men. They mustn’t see her like this, she must remain strong –

There was a sudden flash of light and the men came in formation around her, weapons drawn. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t even stand up, but then she heard nir sibling’s voice and she sobbed with relief.

“Maiko!” Ne pushed past the guards, on nir face an expression that must mirror her own, tears streaking nir cheeks. Ne threw nir arms around her and hugged her fiercely, desperately, and she embraced nem back. She must be strong for nem. She must.

Ne began whimpering, rubbing nir face against her shoulder, her hair. She shushed nem softly, forced herself not to cling to nem as madly as ne was clinging to her. She must be strong.

The whimpering slowly turned into words, and she’d have preferred not to hear, but she must. “I he-heard it s-s-stop,” ne bawled, “I heard his, his, his heart stop, Maiko, I heard it _stop_ –”

“It’s all right,” she managed to dredge out of herself. “I’m here. It’s all right.”

“No it’s n-n-not,” ne clutched at her, “He’s dead, he’s _dead_ –”

“Yes.” Maiko slowly caressed nir back. She forced herself to say those words aloud, too. “He’s dead.”

_Otousan_.

She’d never see him again. Of course she hadn’t dared hope to, she knew he despised her, she knew she had disappointed him. She knew he’d never forgive her for what she’d allowed to happen to Raze. But now… now she’d never see him again. Her father, always there for her, for Raze. He was gone.

He was gone.

And Chie, too. Kind, steadfast Chie, her safe harbor. Maiko had done everything wrong. She’d lost them forever, and she hadn’t even been able to mend things with them.

Raze stilled in her arms. With a new streak of pain in nir voice, ne asked: “Is that Chi-?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t bear nem to say it. Raze hugged her closer to nir chest, and it was nir turn to pass nir hand on her back, to shush her, for she was bawling now.

She wasn’t sure of how much time passed, but no one dared say anything, disrupt this moment. The threat of Phoenix must have passed, or else they wouldn’t be so quiet.

That was until someone else came into the room.

“Billy.” It was Lee’s martial voice. “Has Quentin been dealt with?”

There wasn’t trace of any emotion in the words, she might as well have been talking about Edmondson himself. Maiko couldn’t believe her coldness. How was she so unaffected?

“Not exactly,” said Kaplan. “There’s a Phoenix Egg in the center of the airport. It can’t be moved. We tried, but –”

A Phoenix Egg? What was that, now?

She couldn’t pretend she was part of the furniture anymore. She had to deal with whatever was happening.

Maiko slowly extricated herself from Raze, still holding nem close, but allowing enough space to look around, see what was happening.

Lee was still on the doorway; beside her were Iceman and… and Laura, a deadness in her eyes. Maiko’s heart went out to her. She must be devastated, but she wasn’t showing anything, how Maiko should have done.

To the side were Kaplan, Colossus, and Oya. The woman looked grief-stricken, and leant heavily against a chair, her arms wrapped around herself. Charles sat beside her; he seemed exhausted, there was dried blood under his nose and ears, and he was staring behind Maiko.

At Chie. Maiko steeled herself.

“And Broo?” Lee was asking.

“No trace of him.” Kaplan raised a hand, levitating a gun in front of him. “We found this.”

“So he shot Quentin.” Lee clenched her jaw. “But where is he?”

“I can’t find him.”

“You think –” Oya spoke feebly, then trailed off. She was ashen. Kaplan grimaced.

“I can’t find him,” he repeated.

“We need to understand what happened,” said Lee.

Oya let out a hysterical laughter that ended abruptly with a sob. “What happened? They killed Daken in cold blood and Quentin lashed out, that’s what happened!” She pushed herself off the chair, her hands balled into fists. “And Broo sacrificed himself to stop him. What else do you need to know?”

“I need to know what will come out of that egg when it cracks.” Lee crossed her arms. “I need to have an idea of _when_ will it crack. Was Quentin fatally injured? Or is he just wounded?” Her gaze softened an inch. “I understand this is difficult to do now. We all feel the same.”

“I find that hard to believe,” remarked Oya with venom. She gave her back to all of them, her shoulders shaking. Lee sighed.

“Charles. Did you see what happened?”

The young man grimaced. “I was a bit occupied.”

“I know. You saved many people.” Lee pinched the bridge of her nose and then turned to Maiko.

No, not to Maiko. To Raze.

She held nem tighter, glaring daggers at the vampire. If she’d had her knives on her, she’d have thrown them.

“I hardly think -”

Lee held up a hand. “I understand. You don’t want nem to relive that moment. But we must know.”

“It can wait, Jubilee,” said Laura. Even her voice was dead. Lee winced, but shook her head.

“You know it can’t.”

“I won’t let you…” snarled Maiko, but then Raze squeezed her shoulder.

“It’s all right.” Ne let go of her. Nir eyes were red and puffy, nir face contorted with pain, and ne turned to face the gathered X-Men. Maiko let nem, because she couldn’t stop nem. “It killed him,” ne said simply.

“It –?” Lee motioned for nem to elaborate. Raze looked to the side.

“It killed the doctor. The Phoenix. It killed doctor Broo.” There was a sharp cry coming from Oya. Raze lowered nir head. “The doctor tried to shoot it, but it stopped him. It – it turned him to ashes.”

“The Phoenix,” repeated Lee. “Not Quentin?”

“It said so. It said strange things, like… _I am fire, and life… life_ …”

“ _Incarnate_.” Lee blanched. “He didn’t lash out, he went full-on Dark Phoenix.”

“My God.” The Dark Phoenix. Quire had spoken of it, at Jean’s trial. It came out when the host lost control over the Phoenix Force. “How are we still alive?”

“I shot him.”

Raze’s words fell into stunned silence.

“You… shot him?” Lee took a step in nir direction. “You shot _the Dark Phoenix_.” Her voice pitched with incredulity.

“No.” Raze didn’t elaborate, nir arms tight around nemself. Ne was still staring at the floor.

“Raze.” Laura took a step in nir direction. She spoke in a hard, clipped manner, fighting to keep control of herself. “Did you shoot him or not?”

“I shot Quire,” Raze said, slowly. “I think. I think… he managed to regain control enough to let me do it. He told me to do it. He _asked_ me to –” ne broke off, nir fingers digging into nir arms.

Ne hadn’t cared for Mystique. Nor for Creed. But this murder appeared to have tipped nem over the edge. Maiko rose and approached nem carefully, put a hand on nir shoulder. Ne was shaking slightly.

This wasn’t a murder. Phoenix – Quentin Quire had _asked_ nem. It was an act of mercy, and it had saved them all, but for a moment Maiko hated the man for losing control, for putting her sibling in that situation.

Who wouldn’t lose control, when seeing their loved ones die in front of them?

She resolutely didn’t turn to face her own personal nightmare. Chie was dead, otousan was dead, but Raze was alive, and ne needed her. She must be strong.

The mood in the room was darker than before. Oya was crying in earnest now, even if she was clearly trying to muffle her sobs. Kaplan moved beside her, patted her shoulder awkwardly, and she threw her arms around him, hid her face in the folds of his cloak. Lee risked a glance at the woman, and grimaced, but then returned her attention to Raze and went on, unmerciful:

“Where did you shoot him? Did he die?”

Raze stiffened. Maiko squeezed nir shoulder. “What’s the need for all this, now? Can’t you see-?”

“He regained control, fantastic. There’s still a Phoenix Egg in there.” Lee’s eye flashed. “We don’t know what will come out of it, maybe he’ll be fine, back in control, but we don’t _know_. Knowing his injury allows us to at least have a rough estimation of when the Egg might crack. If he’s dead, it will take longer –” She still hadn’t explained what the hell was a Phoenix Egg, but from the looks of it, it seemed to be some self-healing device.

“Head,” whimpered Raze. Ne raised nir own and whatever was in nir eyes made Lee lower her gaze. Maybe she felt ashamed. “I aimed at the head. I shot. That’s all I know.” Ne sounded exhausted. Maiko wanted all this to end. She wanted to wake up, all this nothing more than a nightmare. Her father still alive. Chie still alive. Even Quire, roaming her corridors with the same haunted expression otousan had sported for years –

Raze spoke again. “Next I knew, there was that… that thing in front of me.” Ne shuddered. “Shiny. Strange. It made my skin crawl. I got to Charlie and then they showed up,” ne jerked nir head at Kaplan and the others.

“All right. Thank you, Raze,” Lee said softly. Raze nodded stiffly and retreated to a corner. Maiko made as if to follow nem, but ne shook nir head. She stood still, her hand falling.

She’d failed nem.

“And the Egg can’t be moved,” Lee continued. She waited for Kaplan to nod, then spoke again. “Did you feel anything?”

“No. Yes,” Kaplan grimaced, “Only raw power, when we tried to teleport it. Otherwise, nothing.”

“You think Quentin is still in there?” asked Iceman.

“No idea.” The sorcerer’s mouth was a thin line. “Judging from Raze’s tale, yes, he could be.”

“We have no way to know,” said Colossus.

How could they stand there, speak? Their teammate had died. Another had killed hundreds. People had died. _Chie_. Chie had been killed by Phoenix, had died because of _him._ Otousan had been cowardly shot, like a damn _dog_. And they talked like everything was fine, as if they hadn’t been attacked, as if they shouldn’t think of the next move. Was the island next? God, they needed to get back to work. Protect the borders. Madripoor would be next.

“We need to check the perimeters,” she said. She tried to speak clearly, but there was a waver in her voice. At least this she could still do. She was born for this. Protect everyone but those she cared about.

They looked at her.

“We need to check the perimeters,” she repeated, her voice stronger. She could do this. “We’re scattered, shocked. They’re going to attack.”

“She’s right.” Lee’s gaze pierced her, made her feel like a little girl. She steeled herself. “We need to put back together the teams,” continued Lee, “Send them back on the ground.” She looked around, assessing her team. “If we move fast –”

“Fuck _no_.” The snarl, a vicious sound, came from Raze. They turned to look at nem; ne was livid, nir claws out. “What we _need_ to do is take Edmondson and _make him pay_.” What ne meant was clear.

She moved towards nem, her hands held up pleadingly, but ne took a step back, nir eyes past her, glued on the X-Men. “We _need_ to make that bastard pay, you hear me?”

“We can’t –”

“They killed papa!” Ne snapped. “Why shouldn’t we kill them?”

“Because it’d be an act of _war._ ” Maiko took a step in nir direction. She knew what ne felt, she wanted nothing more than feeling Colcord’s blood in her hands, but she couldn’t. She must pull herself together; she couldn’t give in to the darkest part of herself, that part that had reveled in the chaos transmitted by Phoenix. “The whole world would strike back –”

“It’d bring war upon mutants,” said Lee.

“We’re already at war! Fuck, don’t you see it?” Ne pointed at the blackened screens. “We’re already –”

“I know,” Lee said calmly.

“Then -!”

“I know we can’t protect every single mutant if it turns from a covert war into a real fight.” Lee dropped her head. It seemed it cost her to say so.

“It’s already a real fight!” screamed Raze. “Fuck, _that_ was an act of war!” Ne looked around, wide-eyed, seemingly trying to appeal to the other mutants present. Maiko hugged herself; she knew history. She knew why the X-Men would vote against a direct confrontation. She’d always taken them for cowards, but she couldn’t deny that they couldn’t do anything now. They were stuck. And they had a giant bullseye painted on the island.

They should worry about that now, not talk about dangerous payback.

But Raze kept looking around like a madman, shocked by the silence. Maiko was about to intervene, but it was one of the oldest X-Men that finally said something.

“No, kid.” It was Iceman. He’d rested his staff against a chair, his hood thrown back on his shoulders, and he looked exhausted. “Trust me, it isn’t a real fight yet.”

“Trust you…!” Raze snarled in his direction. “You all want to throw in the towel like damn cowards, do it, but I won’t stand here and –”

“Raze.” Charles spoke from his corner, his voice like gravel. “They’re right. Let it go.”

Raze fell silent and stormed out of the room, looking murderous. Charles threw Maiko an apologetic glance and, when she nodded, he went after nem. He was the only one who could calm Raze down, talk some sense into nem, stop nem before ne really went after Edmondson. In any other moment, the thought of the two’s co-dependency would have filled Maiko with alarm, but now she was just relieved that the situation had de-escalated. God, how callous of her.  

Lee cleared her throat. “We need to put people back at the borders. We’re going out, Maiko. If you can spare anyone from the tower…”

Maiko nodded. The vampire turned on her heels, to lead the X-Men back on the streets. To protect Madripoor.

Maiko swallowed, a dull pain in her chest. To give the orders to her people, she’d have to turn around. See Chie. She was fairly sure that her radio was on the table, at the far end of the room, near the screens. She’d have to turn around. She’d see Chie –

She _had_ to turn around. This was no moment for sentimentality, they were on the brink of destruction. She took a breath –

“Chotto mate.” It was Kazuro. He’d been silent up until that moment. “X-Men, wait,” he said louder. The mutants stopped in the doorway, some of them already out. Maiko steeled herself and turned.

Chie lay on the floor, her eyes vacant, her face a mask of pain. Maiko felt all the air disappear from her lungs as she took in the dried blood under her nose, her ears, her eyes. She looked like Charles, but as he’d survived, either he was stronger than her or she’d been protecting more people than him.

It had been, perhaps, a combination of the two. Her gentle Chie, so strong, compassionate, and brave.

But she couldn’t dwell on her for more than those precious few seconds. They were at war. She needed to focus; she had no time to grieve.

“There’s a problem,” Kazuro was saying. Maiko tore her eyes away from the love of her life to look up at him. He was staring down at his cell phone; he tapped it to project a hologram in the air.

It showed otousan, Phoenix holding him. It was some news channel, giving a rundown of what had happened, relaying Phoenix’s attack as the video feed shook. She’d seen it already, and she couldn’t bear to watch it again. She was sure the X-Men felt the same.

She was about to ask Kazuro what was the problem – why was he subjecting her again to such sight – but then the video showed something else: a rooftop, with Raze on it. Holding a rifle.

And the speaker was saying –

Maiko’s blood ran cold.

As Raze was seen taking a shot, the speaker was saying that apparently, Madripoor’s new unstable head of state had killed his own father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Maiko would be horrified at what they were going to do.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse.

37.

“And the illusion starts to tear –  
Let everybody stand and stare,   
Cause now I have no fear:  
I knew that this would end in tears.”

Florence + the Machine – _Pure Feeling_

 

 

Maiko stared at the hologram, burning with incredulity and outrage.

How dare they – how dare they spin the story so? How dare they spread such horrifying lies? She’d have understood attacking the island – she’d expected it, in fact – but this was simply loathsome. It was obviously carefully planned between US and Japan, and it made her seethe and fear for her sibling – and for the island.

Because the US weren’t going to attack cowardly now, but openly. Now that such fake information had been given to the press and to the world via the airport’s security cameras – creating this false image of Raze, obviously by using a clone, by _making a clone kill otousan_ – they would surely act as defenders of liberty, warn the world about the danger of Madripoor, set in place a mechanism that would lead to a full-on war on the island. Nobody trusted Madripoor already, but now its head of state had apparently murdered someone and oh, wasn’t it an elegant, horrifying plan?

And – she cursed herself – such idea could have come from Raze nemself, from their own bluff. They’d told Colcord about Mystique and now they were paying the price. They’d thought themselves clever, they’d thought they could contain the damage if Edmondson decided to use the information, but this… never in their wildest dreams had they envisioned this nightmarish scenario.

They simply weren’t prepared for it. They’d been dealt blow after horrifying blow, and now they were reeling, unable to counterattack. How long did they even have before being attacked now? And it would certainly be a real attack, with all the might of a whole army behind it. They were prepared for a covert threat, not for what would now surely come.

Looking around in the crowded and chaotic conference room, she knew that she wasn’t the only one that had realized the danger. Among the cacophony Lee met her gaze with a nod and turned to her people. “We need to organize an evacuation of the island,” she bellowed, effectively commanding silence. “Now.”

But where could they hide the population of an entire island? And how could they evacuate so many people? They’d have to lower the shields, and if someone caught wind of that, if the world caught wind of that –

“Maiko.” Lee had grabbed her by the shoulders. “Focus. Raze needs to order an evacuation, stat.”

But anything that Raze ordered now would be ignored. With that terrible accusation, any support that ne might have had been wiped away. “We need to address the accusations –” Maiko started, but Lee shook her slightly.

“Maiko, it’s over. The dream’s over.” She seemed pained. “Forget politics. We need to regroup.”

“ _Politics?_ ” Maiko shook her off. “Lee, they struck us dead. Raze won’t be listened to if ne doesn’t defend nemself now. Every moment that passes without an answer, more and more people start to believe that lie.” She pointed at the screens: now Edmondson was on them, seemingly about to give a press conference, and she wanted to scream, but she had to keep it together. “No one will obey a… a patricide.” She winced at the thought that their grief had been turned into a weapon. One that would be extremely successful against Raze. “Good luck convincing people to follow nir orders –”

Her voice died in her throat as Edmondson’s press conference began.

 

* * *

 

_Hurry._

Raze waited at the window for Charlie to catch up. Nobody seemed to be following them: they’d all bought their little charade, seeing only Charlie putting some sense into Raze. Even Maiko had fallen for it.

Maiko would be horrified at what they were going to do.

Raze shook nir head. Ne couldn’t afford to have second thoughts.

_How long do we have?_ Charlie finally came into view, skidding to a halt in front of nem.

Ne shrugged. The tower personnel were scattered, due to the state of emergency, and eluding their presence shouldn’t be a problem.

Charlie rolled his eyes. _We need a rough estimate_. There was still dried blood on his face, and it looked nightmarish, a painful reminder of the loss. Upon hearing nir thoughts, his features softened. _Hey. We’re gonna make them all pay._

_I know_. Raze led him down the corridor to the stairwell. Ne pressed nir palm to the scan. As the door opened, ne grabbed Charlie, secured him onto nir back with nir tail, and dashed down the stairs.

At some point during their hurried descent Charlie stiffened, his scent exuding alarm.

_What?_

_Nothing_. Charlie held on to nem tightly. _Let’s get out of here first._

_Got it_. They reached the first floor and Raze waited a moment, listening to the other side of the door, but there was no one. So ne run down the corridor, reached the window that overlooked an empty alley, and climbed out onto the street.

They were out. Ne released Charlie and simultaneously took on another aspect, a woman with long black hair and black eyes. Ne threw a glance at Charlie, adjusting nir bone structure so that ne could easily pass for his mother. _Okay, let’s get to the docks before they realize we’re gone._

_Wait_. Charlie grabbed nir arm. He had a strange expression, his brows knitted, his mouth contorted in a grimace.

_What?_

_They’re saying_ – Charlie wet his lips _. There’s a video. It shows you, taking a shot._

_A shot?_ Ne didn’t understand and then, suddenly, ne did. Charlie held nem together, but he couldn’t do anything against the furious tide. Oh, the bastards were going to pay even more for this. Raze had intended a slow, painful death for them, but now ne’d draw it out even more. _Let’s go_ , ne snarled.

_Wait a second, let’s think this through_ , said Charlie. _The implications_ …

_What implications?_ Ne glanced around. They couldn’t stay put for too long, they needed to move. If they were found, they’d never manage to leave the island. Maiko would put a suffocating net around nem. They needed to leave, and they needed to do it now.

There was a single, white-hot focused thought in nir mind: make them pay. Make everyone pay for father’s murder, for the subsequent deaths. Chie, doctor Broo. Even Quire, damn him.

Ne needed to make everyone pay and the X-Men – and Maiko – would never permit it. They wore white hats, even now, with all that had happened. Thank God Charlie had kept on with their plan, continuing their project while Raze was distracted by meeting after pointless meeting!

Charlie was explaining – stupid things about appearances and the island and what could happen now. But none of it really mattered until those people were alive. Worse; if ne stayed, ne’d actually jeopardize all they had worked for, all they had sacrificed for. Ne was being framed and Madripoor would suffer for it. If ne left, no one would attack the island, and ne’d be followed wherever ne went.

And ne planned to go straight to the White House and murder Edmondson, for starters.

Charlie bit his lip. _If you’re sure –_

_Fuck yes, I’m sure. Let’s go_.

The island was in good hands anyway. Maiko wouldn’t let it crumble.

Raze had another part to play.

 

* * *

 

Edmondson wove a tale that painted him as concerned and sympathetic.

He said that he’d revealed to Japan the truth about Raze’s parentage after seeing the concerning evidence shown by the airport security footage. He said that he should have understood “the boy was troubled” when he’d discovered that many years ago he’d been kidnapped and brought in a facility to be studied and, effectively, tortured – on his predecessor’s orders.

Edmondson had some fucking nerve. He stood in front of the world and fed it lies, and the world was believing him. He was dooming his predecessor to prison and he knew it, but there must be some agreement in place, or else he wouldn’t have dared. And he just kept going. He said that when, newly appointed, he’d reached out to Mystique to apologize on behalf of the government, she’d just shrugged it off and demanded discretion. Naturally he’d agreed, not wanting to put such a weight on such young shoulders. And then, a month later, he’d been contacted by Mystique, who wanted to sell Raze’s own father as a sign of goodwill, to ensure cooperation in the current political climate, so geared against mutants –

It was at that point that the forces gathered in the tower realized that Jessica Williams had been discovered, that their plan hadn’t worked. That otousan had sacrificed himself for nothing. And Maiko recalled, tears in her eyes, otousan’s frantic signing when he’d heard her voice. _Danger_ , he’d told her. _Danger._

And they hadn’t understood. _She_ hadn’t understood, too relieved and terrified to realize they were playing right into Edmondson’s and Colcord’s hands.

But she wouldn’t do that anymore. She’d fight back. They’d fight back, dammit. Lee could evacuate the island, if she wanted; she should certainly take Raze with her, take nem to safety. But Maiko would fight.

She talked into her radio. “Find Raze, please, and bring nem to the conference room. Ne should be with Charles.” Her demand was only met with an assent: she wouldn’t be questioned. She was trusted by everyone in the tower. None of the staff would believe these preposterous lies.

But the rest of the island? They needed to hurry.

The X-Men were talking with Kazuro’s people and Maiko’s agents, probably coordinating the evacuation.

And Edmondson was still talking.

“- mutant threat. I was urged to cooperate with Raven Darkhölme, as a fellow head of state. I didn’t like it – more than half US citizens didn’t like it – but it was my duty to entertain an amicable relationship, in the interest of world peace. President Darkhölme herself felt this, or else she wouldn’t have tried to work with me – or so I thought. But what happened today proves how wrong we’ve been. We can’t work with murderers, torturers, loose cannons. We can’t work with living weapons – my heart goes out to the many victims in Sendai Airport, to the many cowardly induced to murder –”

The transition was ham-fisted: even having planned everything, they couldn’t have anticipated Phoenix’s reaction to otousan’s death, but they still had to work it into the speech – but it was a godsend for them, because it only proved their point, the point that had been made for years and hammered for months now: mutants were dangerous.

“- the X-Men will need to answer as well. But right now, my main concern is taking down the corrupt government of Madripoor. Save that child from his mother – there’s no doubt in my mind that President Darkhölme put him up to this, and is puppeteering him from the shadows, that the recent change of power is just a way for her to return to her villainous ways –” He looked down at his notes. There was a long pause, during which the press tried to ask questions.

His play was obvious. Declare war on Madripoor, find Raze, possibly kill as many mutants as possible in the pursuit of that goal. They were basing a part of the plan on Raze’s bluff – at this point, they couldn’t really know if Mystique was alive or not – but it’d work well for them regardless of the outcome: if Raze had been lying, they’d pin everything on Mystique and take Raze from her, ostensibly to protect nem; if Raze had said the truth, they’d reveal it and declare nem mad, and they’d lock nem up. In both cases, they’d put nem in a facility, to study and torture nem.

Maiko seethed. They couldn’t just run. Evacuating the island was well and good – it made her blood boil, but she couldn’t risk the lives of so many people she had an obligation to – but if they didn’t refute any of Edmondson’s allegations, Raze would be in constant danger. Thankfully they had a few weapons of their own. They had no hard proof yet, but they were past that point by now; they needed to play the cards they had, especially because they couldn’t unknowingly put Jessica Williams at risk any more – that poor girl.

They needed to release the videos they had – the videos they’d been fed.

But Edmondson was ahead of them already.

 

* * *

 

As they navigated the streets, Charlie kept nem posted.

Edmondson was a disgusting son of a bitch and he would pay for all he’d done and for the lies he was now spreading; Raze would make sure of it.

The bastard was only cementing nir decision. He wanted to trap Raze? He wanted to use it as an excuse for attacking the island?

Good luck doing that when Raze was gone. His only excuse disappeared, he’d have to leave Madripoor alone.

Not that he’d live long after that. The day of reckoning was coming. Ne couldn’t wait to taste the bastards’ blood, to coat nir claws with it. Ne’d paint a bloody message for the world to see. Ne’d exact vengeance and oh, it would taste so sweet.

It wouldn’t bring back anyone. It wouldn’t bring back father.

But at least it would quench nir pain, if only a little.

_Raze._

_What?_

They’d stopped walking: there was a crowd, and passing through would be impossible. Raze shrugged.

_Let’s go back, there’s an intersection_ –

_They’re talking about you._

_What?_ Raze tuned in to the conversations. Many were watching Edmondson’ press conference on their phones, and what they were saying –

Ne’d expected this to happen. As soon as ne’d realized what the man was saying, ne’d thought it’d come to this. Ne’d known that someone would believe the lies; after all, nobody even knew Raze, who’d so far been a distant presence in the tower. And ne was prepared to go, and sacrifice nemself for the island – and simultaneously satisfy nir thirst for blood, of course.

But hearing nir people – those ne’d sacrificed everything for – talk about selling nem and nir very dead – unbeknownst to them – mother, in order to save their skin… that hurt. That cut right through nem. Ne stood still, listening in. Someone was saying that they needed to close ranks, that the island had survived far worse than a homicidal family. A man was saying that he was no saint, but that at least he’d never turned against his own father. Someone blamed Raven, others didn’t, but they all agreed: the Darkhölmes needed to go.

And it wasn’t all humans, either. There were mutants in the crowd, and they were agreeing. Mutants, agreeing to sell their own kind. Ne’d expected it from the humans, but this was another thing entirely. Didn’t they see they were being played? How could they be so stupid?

_Herd mentality_ , said Charlie helpfully. Not that it did help. Raze took a step into the crowd. Charlie harshly reined nem in. _What do you think you’re doing?_

_I –_

Ne didn’t know. Maybe ne could reveal nemself? Attempt to appease the masses?

_At this stage they’d just turn on you._

Raze grimaced. Charlie was right, but what was ne supposed to do? Just let them go on believing everything Edmondson was feeding the world?

Everything went to hell in a matter of seconds. One moment the crowd was muttering discontent and planning nebulously; the next, they were listening in horrified silence as Edmondson alleged there was an ongoing investigation on a hidden facility found on American soil whose money trail, apparently, traced right back to Mystique, who was indeed creating her own army – with clones of her own son.

Raze’s blood run cold. _Did he just_ –

_Yeah_.

Ne couldn’t move. The enormity of what was being done here, the sheer wrongness of it, the indignity, the rage on behalf of father’s pointless sacrifice, the knowledge that many clones had just been sacrificed in order to secure all the others with this horrifying gamble – nir knees buckled and ne almost fell. Ne was mad and terrified all at once, howling with grief and fury and stunned incredulity. Nir mind was a whirlwind and ne didn’t, couldn’t know what to do. Everything was red and for a moment ne heard it again, that horrible absence of a sound, that white noise, that nightmare. This was a nightmare. Ne’d wake up soon, and father would be alive, and none of this would be happening –

_We need to leave_. Charlie nudged nem telepathically as the crowd roared – moving as one, dragging them with it, going towards the tower.

_What? No! We need to warn Maiko –_

_Already done_. Charlie held nem tightly, trying his best with his fragile body to stop them both from being dragged away. _Raze, if we remain, we aren’t going to make it. We’ll never be able to make him pay – to make them all pay. The X-Men –_

_The X-Men would do nothing_. Ne wanted to believe they’d fight, ne really did. But ne knew by now that they’d sit on their hands and try to resort to diplomacy, when the time for diplomacy was up.

Raze grabbed a hold of Charlie and planted nir feet firmly on the ground by turning them into roots going directly into the hard concrete. Ne stood, protecting the both of them from the blunt force of the moving crowd, and stared ahead at the tower, at the people converging towards it. Something hardened in nem. Ne could let this play out, let it be a lesson for the X-Men. Perhaps a few losses would make them see it Raze’s way.

But Maiko was inside the tower as well, and even if she had decided to be apathetic, she was still Raze’s sister.

_Are you sure?_ Charlie asked. He knew the conclusion ne had come to, and this was, after all, nir people too.

But one has to take care of a dog that’s gone mad.

_Yeah. Stop them. I don’t care if they drop dead, just stop them_.

Exactly as they’d moved as one, everyone in the crowd fell. Mutants and humans both: at least ne could say that the island’s inhabitants had coexisted until the end. They all fell gracelessly, their brains shut down by Charlie. There was a faint smell of blood; those who wore chips might be brain-damaged, but Raze didn’t care.

Ne turned on nir heels. _Let’s go_.

 

* * *

 

It must have taken months to organize.

Months to make sure that every allegation that was made today, every accusation, would match up with public records, with paper trails.

Precious months that they had given to the monsters themselves, with their inaction. But what could they do with their hands tied, with no proof but a few videos?

And now they didn’t even have those. Now they had nothing.

Because Maiko was sure that they’d come into play during this so called “investigation”. That what they had would be directly contradicted by whatever the President-sanctioned agency investigation would say.

The President was talking about the facility in Alaska, the one the X-Men had found abandoned, the one where Raze had killed Victor Creed. He talked of a heroic spy that had made the investigation possible – none other than Elizabeth Garner, who’d been tailed and disposed of by none other than _otousan_ , on Mystique’s orders. And all of that, the President remarked to better incite the masses, had happened on American soil. Why would Mystique even think of doing all that in the US was a doubt that wouldn’t touch anyone’s mind. Why should it? Mystique was crazy and had money and grooming child soldiers on US soil to turn against the US itself was the perfect fuck-you to the US. Edmondson and Colcord would have to sacrifice some clones in order to make this believable, and Maiko had no doubt that it wouldn’t hinder the project in the slightest. Rather, it would all be perfectly hidden in plain sight now.

It was elegant, and horrifying, and Edmondson had won.

Forget simply addressing the issue: they needed to study a strategy. They needed to work on the little they had and rethink everything hard, and do it quickly.

Maiko shook herself: Lee was coming towards her, wading through X-Men and tower personnel. “I have just spoken to Ororo – the Queen of Wakanda,” the vampire corrected herself quickly. “She’s going to welcome any refugee we send her way. We need to move fast, Maiko.”

“I know.” But they needed Raze for it. Of course, she wasn’t even sure if Madripoor would listen to Raze or “Mystique” right now. But they had to try. They had to save them. She had to save them: she had an obligation to the island, she had sworn to protect its inhabitants.

A guard gave her a nod from a corner of the room; she’d put him in charge of the island’s anti-apparition shield. Maiko nodded back at him and turned to Lee. “The shield is ready to drop. We just have to wait for Raze and then we can go.”

Where the hell was nem? Ne couldn’t not know what was happening, so why hadn’t ne shown up yet? She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Lee seemed to think the same, her gaze running to the door. Then she looked away, quickly, with a grimace, and Maiko followed her gaze: Okonkwo was coming to join them, her face still a mask of pain but her eyes determined.

“Charles just contacted me,” she said as a way of greeting, her voice still streaked with pain. Maiko felt a strong sense of foreboding, her blood ran cold. “He says a mob is coming here.”

“A _mob_?” Lee made for the windows and the two women followed her. How would Charles know that? Maiko tried to ignore the increasing alarm. They passed Chie’s corpse; someone had put a coat on her, hiding her from view. Maiko felt the need to retch again.

“Maiko.” Lee grabbed her by an arm and squeezed. She was looking out of the window, but Maiko couldn’t bring herself to.

“Charles urges us to leave immediately,” Okonkwo said.

Leave? They couldn’t just leave!

“They’re out for blood,” added the woman. Lee hissed and turned away from the window.

“Where _is_ he?” she demanded, voicing Maiko’s unspoken fears.

Okonkwo grimaced. “Out there, apparently.”

“With Raze?” Maiko’s voice died in her throat.

Okonkwo paused, her head tilted, listening intently to whatever Charles was telling her. The mask of pain cracked to show concern in her eyes. “Yes. They have a way out, but we need to leave, he says.”

Maiko felt her knees gave way under her; Lee caught her by the waist. “And leave them here?” Leave Raze alone?

“They have a way out,” Okonkwo repeated.

“I will _not_ leave them,” Maiko snarled. What had gotten into them? “Tell him to come back here –”

“It’s out of your hands,” Okonkwo said – but her voice, somehow, didn’t seem her own anymore. It was deeper. “We’re going. Leave now or Raze won’t ever forgive me.”

Maiko started. “Charles…?”

“ _Get to safety_!” Okonkwo/Charles roared, and then the woman blinked and said, “He’s gone. He’s –” she looked a little green and Maiko couldn’t bring herself to care for anything past the fact that she couldn’t, couldn’t permit her sibling to come to any harm. She’d held nem in her arms and she couldn’t let nem go.

“He’s what?” Lee prompted Okonkwo. The woman shut her eyes briefly.

“He’s shut the mob down, to buy us some time. He says to go know – he saw our plans in my head, he said to go and leave the shield up, leave the island to its own devices.”

She couldn’t just leave the island to its own devices. Leave _Raze_ alone. “I won’t –”

“Maiko.” Lee looked torn, but her voice was steady. “If they’re unconscious… or worse…” Someone could be dead. The added power it took to overcome a chip could seriously damage a brain. What had led Charles to do that? Surely the mob could be reasoned with –

Mobs usually couldn’t. But still, she couldn’t leave all the others behind, the ones she needed to protect – she couldn’t leave Raze. She’d failed nem far too many times already. Otousan had been right to blame her, otousan –

Otusan was dead. He was dead…

“Maiko!” Lee was shaking her. Otousan was dead, Chie was dead, and she couldn’t leave Raze alone. And the island…! She had to, had to do something, had to save everyone, had to fix this…

Lee slapped her hard. There was a lull and in the silence, the vampire said to her and to the others: “We’re leaving. I’ll issue a message as we go, give Madripoor all it needs to survive, but we’re leaving now.”

Her order was met with questions. Shouldn’t they wait? They should protect the island! The tower staff – men and women who had family in Madripoor, but Maiko’s own people, too, otousan’s old people, but only the mutants – argued and shouted. Lee bared her vampire teeth.

“The island has decided to come after _us_. Do you want to battle civilians? That’s what will happen if we stay. We’ll leave them means to leave, Wakanda’s offer will still stand, I don’t see it going away – but we need to leave. Laura,” she added, her voice softened, and Maiko saw her aunt beside them, still pale and with that haunted look in her eyes, her posture rigid. “Please take your niece and don’t let her out of your sight. Colossus will teleport us in groups –”

“We can’t leave them here,” mouthed Maiko weakly, just as Laura asked: “And Raze and Charles?”

“Already gone,” Lee said, but ne wasn’t gone, ne wasn’t gone, they needed to find nem, she needed to find her little Raze, ne needed her –

“We’ll regroup, Maiko,” Laura said softly, her hand a vise around Maiko’s arm. “I’m sure ne’s going to join us at the school as soon as ne can.”

 

* * *

 

They walked quickly, with Charlie shutting down every group they encountered that seemed to be going in the tower’s direction. He didn’t risk doing it to the entire island for fear of accidentally shutting down the very people they were trying to protect: he was good, he said, but an operation that surgically precise on so many people required concentration that he couldn’t achieve now. He couldn’t risk harming Maiko.

Raze only hoped that nir sister was leaving and not planning some sort of last stand, but Charlie assured nem it was being handled.

Meaning that she had really been trying to stay on the island. Perhaps she wasn’t that apathetic, but it was too little, and too late. She should have supported Raze. She should have seen that the time for words was up, that they had to resort to violence to be heard.

They reached the deserted docks and navigated them, going for the farthest down the line, semi-hidden by bigger ships.

There was a little boat waiting for them, just enough to exit the port and reach the area that wasn’t protected by the shield. From there they’d teleport directly to a hideout that Charlie had managed to secure on the mainland. Raze grabbed Charlie and jumped aboard.

They found themselves staring down two barrels.

Nir brain went blank, nir ears echoing with that obscene white noise, and ne grew a tail as ne curled protectively around Charlie, who simply snarled:

“What the _fuck_ , Wilson?”

Realizing this was their ally, Raze lifted nir head to get a good look at the man pointing the guns at them. He wore sunglasses and a red hoodie and looked completely unapologetic. _I should lobotomize him_ , said Charlie fiercely.

_We need him_ , Raze thought weakly. Nir heart was still hammering in nir chest.

“Maybe give me a heads-up next time,” said Wilson calmly, lowering his weapons. “You know, since the situation’s a little heated.”

“I told you we were coming!” Charlie extricated himself from Raze and pointed a finger at the man. Wilson seemed unimpressed.

“Yeah, but the first person I saw _wasn’t_ exactly blue, yes?” He nodded at Raze, who still looked like a middle-aged human woman. “Sorry, blueberry. Can’t be too careful.”

“Uh-huh.” Raze abandoned nir disguise and turned into nemself. _Blueberry?_ “Call me Raze.”

“Call me Deadpool.” The man mock-saluted and then appeared to sober up. “I knew Daken. Crazy fella. Can’t say I saw him recently, but –”

Crazy fella? Raze unsheathed nir claws. “Say that again, I dare you.” Ne bared nir teeth.

“Hey, no! I was trying to say I’m sorry for your loss!” The man honest to God _flailed._

“Maybe word it better next time, Deadpool.” They all turned to see a tall, buff woman with hard eyes and a bionic arm. Molly Hayes. “I suggest we leave the pleasantries for later and we just run, gentlemen.”

“She’s right,” Charlie said. _Sorry, Raze. He’s a bit…_ He paused. It was very rare for him to be at a loss for words. _Let’s say his mind’s a mess_.

_Okay_. Ne didn’t care about Wade Wilson’s mind. Ne only cared that he could be useful _. Has Maiko left?_

_Yes_.

“Let’s go,” ne said, ignoring Wilson and nodding at Hayes.

Ne didn’t turn back as the boat left the port.

 

* * *

 

In the end most of her people decided to stay.

They’d coordinate the evacuation, they said. They’d speak to the population and help in any way possible.

Maiko feared the population wouldn’t listen, would instead turn against them, but in the end there was no time and she had to relent.

And so it all ended. Her dream, her hope for a better future for mutants. All turned to ash, to dust, to nothing.

As Colossus prepared to teleport them Laura held her tightly, perhaps expecting her to try to escape at the last moment, but she felt oddly numb. She blinked and she found herself at the Jean Grey School, back to a safety she hadn’t wanted.

She stood as the activity resumed all around her, as Lee barked orders and Kazuro told her, quietly, that he needed to go back to Japan, and still Laura was holding her, and perhaps it wasn’t only out of concern, but out of pain. Laura couldn’t allow her to get out of her sight, because she was the only link to otousan now.

Well, her and Raze. But Raze was AWOL, even if she hoped ne’d soon arrive – but a small part of her knew ne wouldn’t, and she tried to shut down that voice, to no avail.

Laura moved them both to the side, out of the way. Maiko wondered if she should do something to help, to take her mind off everything, off the dark spot on otousan’s chest, off Raze storming away, off Chie’s vacant eyes; but she was useless. Here, and now, she couldn’t do anything.

She was just a little lost girl, and she had failed everyone.

She wept.

 

* * *

 

Raze stared straight into the camera.

“My name is Raze. You know me as Eike Darkhölme, but this is the name I want to be called by: Raze.

“President Edmondson is lying. I did not kill my father. I love,” ne shut nir eyes, pained, that terrible sound in nir ears, nir own terrible words of months before. Charlie enveloped nem, urged nem to continue. Raze opened nir eyes and ignored Wilson’s frantic thumbs-up. “I loved him and I didn’t kill him. Someone else did. President Edmondson will know who did it.

“President Edmondson is lying. My mother didn’t fund any research facility on US soil. She’s been dead for years. I impersonated her in order to rule Madripoor. Sue me,” ne raised nir lower lip in a sneer. “That’s how I know that President Edmondson is lying.

“I left Madripoor. Leave the island alone.

“President Edmondson is lying. He’s lying in order to cover his own crimes. _He_ is funding that facility. _He_ gave the order to kill my father. _He_ is going to use my clones to declare open season on mutants. He can’t be allowed that. He must be stopped.

“You’re all idiots for falling for him, so here’s what we’re going to do,” ne unsheathed nir claws in full view of the camera. Ne was joined in front of it by Charlie, and Wilson, and Hayes.

“We’re the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, and we’re going to kill President Edmondson.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : The truth was that the world saw a threat. And the world responded accordingly.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken's children struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warnings** : casual ableism, suicidal ideation; additional spoilery trigger warning to be found by hovering the mouse over the following symbol:  !

38.

“But still you stumble, your feet give way,  
Outside the world seems a violent place.

While all around you, the buildings sway,  
You sing it out loud: ‘who made us this way?’  
I know you're bleeding, but you'll be okay.”

Florence + the Machine – _Various Storms & Saints_

 

 

It was a conspiratorialist’s dream.

It had everything one could hope for, and then more. There was a corrupt government, a kidnapping, a murder in full daylight. There was a group of people vying for the truth.

A good portion of the world didn’t believe the Brotherhood, nor did they believe the X-Men when they confirmed Raze’s accusations.

But others did. On some forums, someone seemed to believe the truth. There were blogs pointing out inaccuracies in Edmondson’s tale, and every now and then some video appeared, analyzing the available footage. Contrary to what ne’d have thought, though, those websites weren’t shut down, because that would prove they were on to something.

Edmondson’s predecessor was arrested. There was a full investigation under way. Ne knew what the investigation would unearth: everything that Edmondson had alleged would be proved. All those horrid lies about father and Raven and nemself.

They’d made a mistake by pretending Raven was alive, ne could see it clearly now. Ne shouldn’t have ever impersonated her: now the waters were too muddled.

Bloggers pointed out that too. It might well be that the US was covering something up, it might be that ne hadn’t killed nir father; but still, what about Mystique, they asked? Raze hadn’t been really transparent, either.

And now ne’d gone and declared nemself an outlaw. Ne’d gone and declared nir intention to murder Edmondson.

In the long run, nothing mattered. No amount of well-meaning conspiracy theorists would change the cold hard facts, the truth.

The truth was that the world saw a threat. And the world responded accordingly.

 

* * *

 

It began with an attack on Madripoor.

Thankfully, most of the island had been evacuated already; the Queen of Wakanda had welcomed all refugees with open arms.

All mutant refugees: for the humans had elected to stay on the island. So, when the attack came, the invading forces – an alliance of Madripoor’s neighbors, guided by Japan – found no threat at all. They took the tower, and that was it: the end of everything. The island was divided between Japan, China, and Taiwan, and everyone went about their day, as if nothing had happened.

As if a country hadn’t just been invaded.

As if thousands of people hadn’t just been forced to leave their homes.

But, at least, no one had died.

Beside those dear to her.

The X-Men had held a funeral. A brief service in the backyard, with no bodies at all. When they’d escaped they’d had to leave Chie behind, too.

Laura had held her for the entire duration of it, perhaps trying to keep her upright, or perhaps trying to keep herself from falling. She didn’t know. She was numb.

She’d listened to Okonkwo’s eulogy for her friends, Quire and the Brood; the woman had stood tall and proud and had spoken clearly despite the tears streaking her cheeks.

Then she’d had to listen to Lee talk about otousan. The vampire said that she’d come to respect him, that his sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

Empty words.

Maiko should have gotten up, she should have said something; but she was glued to the spot. She didn’t feel anything. She was nothing. And Laura, to her left, likely felt the same, or she’d have spoken for her brother.

And to her right, an empty place. Raze wasn’t going to come.

Raze wasn’t ever going to come to the school. Ne wasn’t ever going to “regroup”. Ne’d found a bloody purpose, and ne’d pursue it till the end of the world.

Till ne’d die from it.

So Maiko couldn’t stand up and give otousan an eulogy. She couldn’t, because she had no right. She’d failed everyone. She hadn’t been able to protect her sibling. And she hadn’t been able to understand what was happening. Otousan had died on her watch, because of her, because she hadn’t understood, hadn’t understood the threat, and if she had, if she _had_ , nothing would have happened, everyone would be alive –

When Lee said Chie’s name, calling for anyone to speak, looking at her with that terrible gaze, Maiko passed out.

 

* * *

 

After Madripoor came the attacks on mutants.

The X-Men jumped from place to place, trying to protect as many as they could. But it wasn’t enough.

It seemed mass hysteria had finally taken a hold, and protests weren’t enough anymore. Now there were shootings and lynchings and people filmed everything, posted it online. The first time, Raze had wanted to get out and protect mutants, but they had a higher calling now. They had to prepare, because they wouldn’t get a second chance.

So they waited on the sidelines as mutants got hurt and the X-Men tried to contain the damage. They planned meticulously while everything went to hell around them, all burning, burning like the Phoenix had said.

One particularly foul day ne was brooding in front of the TV, watching a young boy getting run down by a mob. The X-Men still hadn’t shown up – there was a torching in Moscow and a shooting in Philly. Ne shouldn’t sit idly by, but Charlie was checking some database, so they had to pass the time while they waited for the information.

Wilson, beer in hand, sat down beside nem. Raze didn’t spare him a glance. The man had stopped wearing sunglasses indoors, but it was clear he didn’t love being watched, what with the scars on his face.

Hayes was cleaning her bionic arm. It seemed to relax her.

They sat in silence, waiting for the X-Men to show up. On the screen, the boy was whimpering, tears and snot smeared on his face.

“It’s gonna be all right,” Wilson said, out of nowhere. Hayes stopped moving for a second, then resumed what she was doing.

Raze didn’t answer. Nothing was ever going to be all right.

“No, really,” Wilson babbled. “Listen, she loves Library fix-its, Ellie does, Silence in the Library was awesome but she thinks it was so unfair, and so I have it on good authority, I assure you, everything is gonna be –”

“Inside voice, ’Pool,” Hayes said quietly.

Wilson shut his trap. Sometimes he went off on tangents about his estranged daughter Ellie, and usually ne managed to be a bit sympathetic, but not right now. Ne willed nir claws to go back into nir arms.

On the screen, the Avengers had shown up and dispersed the crowd.

 

* * *

 

After the attacks came the legislations.

Curfew and registries, for the mutants’ own protection. America, Japan, all over Europe. The majority of African states. Wakanda closed its borders, since there were, simply, too much refugees. Lee said she couldn’t blame her old friend, for she had a country to run, and she had done more than enough.

Lee stopped by her room, sometimes, to keep her updated. She would stand by the door, her hands behind her back, as if she was reporting to her, or didn’t know what to do with them. Maiko would listen to everything without saying anything, and when Lee was done, she would only ask: “Raze?”

At that point Lee would grimace and shake her head and take her leave, leaving her to that deadness inside her chest, that ache. She would stare at her knives for hours on end, thinking how easy it would be to slit her wrists with them and be done with it. She was useless, after all; a waste of space. She’d failed everyone.

But she couldn’t even do that. She had no strength left. Not like Laura.

Her aunt had found it in herself to fight back, but she was made of stronger stuff than Maiko. When she came back from missions she usually stopped by and sat beside her, angling herself just so that she’d hide the knives from Maiko’s view, and she would just sit there, not speaking at all. That was quietly, oddly, comforting.

She didn’t take the knives away from her, because she knew Maiko would just find something else.

 

* * *

 

Breaking Jean out of prison was, oddly, a piece of cake.

But perhaps it wasn’t that odd. They’d spent weeks studying blueprints and guard shifts and personnel files, looking for the weak link, a weak spot. The prison was a heavily guarded facility but, as Wilson would say when he made sense, even those are never completely unassailable.

So they staged a distraction, Raze went in disguised as a guard they’d incapacitated, ne found Jean – unconscious, collared and bound, in a heavily padded cell – and then ne went out with her.

Piece of cake.

Other things happened, of course. For starters, ne left a trail of bodies in nir wake, having no intention to hold back. Ne had a message to send, after all.

Then they were almost caught, but Charlie shut the guards down, overriding their chips and, effectively, killing them too.

When they regrouped in their hideout, Wilson asked if he and Hayes were just going to always be the bait.

“Got a problem with that?” Charlie asked as Raze gently put Jean down on the table.

“Jeez, no. Just wondering what do you even need us for.”

“You both are very skilled. This time your skills were required elsewhere. Next time –”

Raze tuned them out as ne gingerly got rid of the woman’s restraints. Jean wore a straitjacket, too. The power-dampening collar was too tight; ne thinned nir fingers and slid them between it and Jean’s neck, trying to find the weak spot. Ne needed to focus: ne couldn’t risk accidentally taking the helmet out as well. Jean’s skin was all sweaty and she smelled terribly. Had they bathed her at least once ever since taking her? At least it appeared she hadn’t been experimented on. Yet.

It made nem think of father. Ne didn’t want to think about it, about what he must have lived through for months – months and months of torture endured in order to play hero, and for what? All for nothing. He’d died for nothing. He’d suffered for nothing.

Nir hands were shaking. Ne knew because a hand had been placed over them, large and warm. Molly Hayes’.

It took their combined effort to take the collar off, while Charlie directed them and Wilson watched and made some comments every now and then. At the same time, Charlie cocooned nem, made nem not think about anything but what ne was doing.

Jean must have been kept drugged as well, because when she was free she remained under for a few days.

Until she wasn’t.

And oh, when she heard what was happening – what had happened – she looked so fierce and ready to join them.

 

* * *

 

Raze was on a rampage.

After a few months of silence ne’d resurfaced, the Brotherhood and nem. First, a few weeks before, they’d assaulted a prison, saving Jean Grey and killing many guards in the process, and nobody had told Maiko, perhaps not to upset her. But now they were attacking the White House.

Maiko knew all of that because Laura had come to tell her before heading out. After she’d left, Maiko had stared at the empty space in the doorway for what felt like aeons, trying – and failing – to visualize her little sibling going around, murdering people.

Then she’d forced herself to stand up from the bed.

Step after painful step, she’d dragged herself to a TV room, following the voices of the younger kids, who had been left unattended. These days it was a constant; more often than not, even some of the older students headed out. It was an all hands of deck situation – or so Lee would say, grimacing, torturing herself for using the children as soldiers, by doing it all the same.

But still, the school was protected by a powerful shield, so the younger kids – and Maiko, useless Maiko – should be safe.

When she reached the TV room, the screens showing the attack in D.C., she saw Raze for the first time in so many weeks.

Ne was fighting with Laura.

The X-Men were protecting Edmondson.

_The X-Men were protecting Edmondson._

It ignited a spark in her, a spark she hadn’t felt in months. How dared Laura fight Raze, how dare the X-Men fight this? They should let them pass! Roll out a red carpet, lead them straight to Edmondson, keep him pinned, slit his throat!

But – she deflated – they couldn’t. She had enough background information, enough intel, thanks to Lee, to know that they couldn’t. They had their hands tied. They had decided to protect all the other mutants in the world, and in order to do that they must be beyond reproach. Because of Phoenix’s situation they walked on the edge of a knife already; they were even being investigated. They couldn’t condone – or facilitate – the murder of a head of state. Because then they’d be arrested. There would be a full-on war.

In order to protect thousands, they had to go against a few.

At least she knew Laura would hold back against Raze. At least she knew ne could heal.

But still, watching nem struggle, and fight, and then retreat with the rest of the so called Brotherhood – she caught sight of Charlie, too, and there there was Jean, and the two Madripoor citizens they’d dragged with them, mercenary Wade Wilson and child prodigy Molly Hayes – watching the X-Men stand down, with tired, forced expression, watching Lee nod at Edmondson, her clenched jaw visible, watching Laura covered in her own blood –

What had become of this world? What had become of her family?

How could she hole herself up in the school and do nothing?

 

* * *

 

They licked their wounds and then went at it again.

And again. And again.

Every time the X-Men were there to stop them. Every damn time. Intellectually, Raze knew what they were doing. Playing nice. They were on their best behavior in order to protect thousands of mutants around the world, and that meant stopping the Brotherhood from murdering a head of state and igniting a conflict that would provoke many casualties.

Except that there was already a war in place. Mutants were subjected to curfews and random searches. For their own good, of course. Mutants were still hunted down, and some were even found killed, for the X-Men couldn’t be everywhere, and the various branches of the Avengers apparently had other things to worry about. Monsters.

They were at war already. Edmondson was responsible, so he’d pay. With his death, Raze could prove his lies. The world would see that he’d engineered everything, mutants would be safe again –

Why couldn’t the X-Men see that? It was the right course of action. By killing Edmondson, they’d save the clones too – the ones that had been revealed and were stashed God knew where; and the ones still hidden away, lost in Colcord’s clutches.

They were discussing this after the umpteenth defeat, nir Brotherhood and nem. ’Pool was cleaning his guns while he healed, and Molly was slumped on the couch, her skin glistening with exertion, her muscles taut. Jean sat at the table, arms crossed, helmet staring ahead, and Charlie sat on the floor. Raze, having already healed, was handing out water and cold towels.

Ne could smell the exhaustion, the doubt. Charlie nodded imperceptibly at that thought, not even strong enough to project an answer in nir mind.

With the spectacular way they failed every time, one could even ask how was it that they hadn’t been captured yet. But there was always a way out – courtesy of the X-Men, of course. They couldn’t be seen not battling them, they always fought them, but they also let them slip away at the end. Who knew, perhaps they even hoped the Brotherhood would manage to best them one day.

But still. This was getting tiring, irritating, frustrating. They needed to do something. They needed to win. They needed to make Edmondson pay.

“We’re going about it the wrong way,” Jean said suddenly from her dark spot.

Ne turned to look at her; the others were listening too, but were too tired to move. “What are you thinking?”

Jean tilted her head to the side, never facing them. She spoke slowly. “I understand wanting revenge. I want it too,” she held up a hand, sensing incoming protests, “But that’s not going to solve anything. With Edmondson dead, we still have problems. The world at large would still believe his lies. The fear,” she spat, “It won’t ever go away. That’s what we need to get rid of.”

“People have always feared mutants,” Molly said with a tired voice. “It’s in their blood. It can never go away. How do you propose we get rid of that completely?”

“We can’t.” Jean shook her head. “Not completely, no. But we can make it so that they don’t fear us for certain things. Lower the fear at an acceptable level. Delete certain events from their minds…”

“Like, with telepathy?” ’Pool straightened up, glancing between her and Charlie. Nir brother grimaced. What Jean was talking about – it was near impossible. Too difficult. They were both powerful telepaths, but she was a walking time bomb and she was talking about rewriting the minds of the whole population of Earth. People would certainly die from that. Of course, it was a worthy price to pay in order to have a world that held nothing against mutants –

Ne tilted nir head, considering. Charlie bit his lower lip, seriously considering it too.

Jean shook her head. “I can’t focus enough for that.”

“If the casualties are just humans,” Charlie began tentatively.

“No. I’d have to open my mind, and we know what would happen then.” She was referring to Election Day. Evidently she felt that the chances of her destroying reality were high.

Of course, this wasn’t a reality ne wanted to live in.

“What do you propose, then?” murmured Charlie. He knew already, for he was also telepathically conversing with her. Ne felt it, at the edge of their shared mind: a plan so monumental and daring that it scared Charlie.

“Well, for starters, we need Hank McCoy,” Jean said.

 

* * *

 

Maiko went back to the land of living, just a little.

Mostly she helped with taking care of the kids. She served them in the cafeteria, herded them from room to room, things like that. They were unexpectedly gentle around her, speaking in hushed, soft tones, listening to her instructions without making a fuss. They didn’t do that with their teachers. When some X-Men were in the building they always went to pester them, asking to be allowed in the field. But with Maiko, not a word of protest could be heard. No mention of going in the field either. When the Brotherhood attacked and they happened to be watching TV, nobody commented, and they all watched in silence as Raze sometimes appeared on screen. They didn’t even mention Maiko’s tears, ever.

They were good kids.

Sometimes, when she was forced to have a free moment, she went to the backyard and stood there, staring at the headstones. There were no bodies in the ground, nothing to grieve on, but all the same it was a physical memento, something to ground her thoughts. She stared at otousan’s tomb and then at Chie’s and she couldn’t bring herself to touch the cold stone, but even being in their presence was enough.

And sometimes Laura would join her there. It was Laura who took care of the tombs, sweeping away leaves and brushing her fingers lovingly against the stone. Then she’d stand there with Maiko, an arm around her waist, and if Maiko was exhausted enough she’d allow her head to rest on her aunt’s shoulder.

They never talked about what had happened. Laura had tried to at first, but Maiko had shut down so fast, and so now Laura had moved on, kind of, and her strength was a kind of comfort, in its own way. She didn’t push, and that was good too. She was just there, quietly supporting Maiko.

It gave her enough strength to resurface, a little step at a time.

 

* * *

 

Their little group took on two new members.

Well, one and a half.

The time-displaced Bobby Drake was, well – nothing more than an ice brute. A thing with a broken mind, only good to smash and destroy. Apparently Apocalypse had done a number on him, back in the day. They found him mindlessly roaming the Antarctic Continent, scaring penguins. He was mostly useless, a kind of mascot maybe, but Jean insisted he had to be there. Maybe she felt nostalgic.

Hank McCoy had been done a number on by Apocalypse, as well. He was the product of the merging of his adult self and his young, time-displaced self, and he was a bundle of hyper-fixation and neurosis that had only gotten worse after Election Day and Blaire’s death. They tracked him down, wrapped him up, and took him home. Jean gave him a cold sharp-focused purpose and Beast gave it everything he had, setting to work with the alacrity that only mania could permit to achieve.

He was building a time machine.

That was Jean’s plan: getting back to before it all started. Before the fear of mutants got to the hysterical heights it reached today. And they’d to it by stopping Apocalypse from becoming Apocalypse.

Before, he’d just been a normal boy – well, a clone – named Evan, who’d set on a path of single-minded destruction and had become Apocalypse – and committed the worst crimes – while trying to send the Original Five home.

So it stood to reason, Jean argued, that by taking the Original Five home themselves, _before_ this Evan started on his path, they would prevent his transformation. And, she added, his becoming a villain was what had made Phoenix unstable to begin with, far before everything that happened with father.

So that was it. Taking them home would delete a good portion of what made mutants be perceived as dangerous by the public. No Apocalypse, no unstable Phoenix, no murders.

Raze had asked why should they play with time like that. It was uncomfortably close to some things Raven had told nem before dying, and it made nir skin crawl. And ne supposed that if they went and changed the past like that, they could also change other things; they could prevent nir kidnapping. They could track Edmondson down and murder him in the crib.

They could save father.

They could save Charlie’s parents, and Alison Blaire. They could fix ’Pool’s relationship with his daughter, and mend things between Molly and her non-mutant friends, the so-called Runaways, drifted apart after the death of her partner.

And yet Jean hadn’t proposed any on those things.

But again, hadn’t ne already known that? Hadn’t father told nem that ne _had_ come back, and ne _hadn’t_ said anything that could save nem?

But why, though?

It was Beast that explained, in words they could all understand.

Well, it took hours, but eventually he managed to be intelligible.

The goal, he said, was to save their reality. The reality they were _currently_ in. And, due to some metaphysical mumbo-jumbo that he derailed on for at least two hours and gave everyone a headache, if they changed too many things they could create an alternate timeline where all was well and come back to their own reality and find it as horrible as they’d left it. Amongst other things, this also took killing out of the equation.

Since the Original Five were an anomaly in itself, taking them out of their reality shouldn’t count as too big a change, and so everything should hold.

The changes would be big, certainly. For once, Jean wouldn’t be there anymore, having returned to her proper time. Charlie wasn’t too happy about that, and Raze neither, but if it was for the good of many, they were willing to make that sacrifice. Jean was, after all, and they should respect her wishes.

It was more difficult to accept that ne couldn’t save father – nor nemself.

But maybe it would be enough. Maybe the course of history would change, taking nem and father out of harm’s way.

Ne had to believe that with all nir might, or else ne’d crumble.

 

* * *

 

The Brotherhood had gone awfully quiet.

They hadn’t attacked Edmondson in weeks. It was a welcome relief, for now the X-Men could dedicate themselves fully to other mutants. Japan had passed new laws, restricting mutants’ freedom even more, and it wasn’t the only country doing so. Even peaceful Switzerland had joined the collective hysteria.

Strangely enough, Edmondson had still to propose anything to Congress, and Maiko asked herself what game was he intent on playing. Certainly there wasn’t any shortage of excuses, and members of his party pushed on him daily.

Some speculated that he was waiting for the results of the investigation on the X-Men themselves, anticipating a last well-placed hit to mutant morale. They were, after all, a beacon of hope, and prosecuting them at the same time as he passed anti-mutant laws would be a masterstroke.

Of course, the investigation was a sham, built entirely on lies of his own making, so the question remained.

In the meantime, the X-Men didn’t sit idly. They were trying to build a case, mostly thanks to Kazuro’s efforts – his man was still in the Japanese government, and kept giving him information – and Donna Kiel’s, as well. Maiko had almost forgotten about her, but apparently she hadn’t shied away from action, resuming contact with Lee at great risk of herself, given what they assumed had happened to Jessica Williams.

Maiko occasionally lent her legal expertise. She didn’t think she could defend anything in court – she didn’t think she had the energy to do so – but at least she could counsel them.

They hadn’t much. Their strongest piece of evidence were the videos, that had already surfaced during Edmondson’s investigation, but with different audio. But Kazuro was working on uncovering a conniving pact between US and Japan, sprinkled with the presence of the Hand; and Kiel talked of whispers in the Agency, talks of implementing a new kind of tool in espionage, and the X-Men’s mind had gone immediately to the clones.

So they were working, slowly but steadily, the little progress due to the more pressing matter of mutants’ safety.

And that was, ultimately, what brought the end. They weren’t prepared.

 

* * *

 

In February, nine months after father’s death, the Phoenix Egg cracked.

Charlie and Jean felt it immediately. They both stilled, their heads turned like hounds scenting a prey. Charlie’s eyes were wide, his face ashen. For a moment Raze feared the worst – some kind of attack? Their hideout had been found? – but then Jean said in a strangled whisper: “He’s out.”

“Who?” Molly called out. She was helping Hank with connecting some wires, but despite the level of concentration required she’d noticed something was amiss. They all had.

Well, apart from Bobby, that was looming in the corner like some kind of overgrown, silent ice Thing.

“Quentin,” Jean said. “Quentin’s out.”

“Jeez,” ’Pool said, in the silence that ensued. If she said ‘Quentin’, it stood to reason that this was the man, whole and not murderous, but – Raze shivered, nir encounter with the cosmic force at the forefront of nir mind. “Is he, like, all right?” ’Pool continued, whistling lowly and pointing a finger at his head.

He didn’t know Raze had shot him there; he was referring to his sanity. Coming from him, it was kind of a ridiculous question. Raze snorted, feeling hysterical.

Quire was out. How would the world react? Would they attack him with everything they had? Or would they cower in fear? Perhaps the war would end before they managed to get to the past.

But they’d go anyway, Raze decided. If there was even a sliver of opportunity to save father, ne’d take it.

“Well, what’s he doing?” ne asked.

Ne didn’t get an answer, not for a long while. Eventually Charlie moved to turn on the TV and, sure enough, people had already noticed. Of course, the Egg was monitored. They were saying that this put the X-Men in an awkward position, and how they’d react to their former teammate-turned-public menace would prove what side they were really on. Raze did ask nemself what they’d do…

And the screen showed the debris in Sendai. Nobody had cleaned up yet, everyone too scared to get too close to the Egg.

There was no Egg now, though. There was Quire, still kneeling like Raze remembered him, eyes unblinking, and in his arms –

In his arms –

Raze swayed, fell to nir knees. In Phoenix’s arms, as if no day had passed at all, was father’s body. Not a decomposed, months-old corpse, but his body, as good as new. And Quire stared at it, and stared, and stared, such intensity in his gaze, such frightening heat. And Raze thought – with a jolt, ne thought – _Is he alive? Is papa alive?_

For Quire certainly seemed to expect something from the body in his arms. But, Raze could see it now, father’s chest didn’t move; he wasn’t breathing.

Raze let out a sob of despair. For a moment, ne’d thought that father was alive, miraculously cured by the strange properties of the Egg. But he was gone; father was still gone. For a moment ne’d allowed nemself to hope and it all came back now, tenfold in its suffocating strength, the pain and the despair and the realization: they had to fix this. They had to fix everything.

Then Quire vanished, taking father with him.

A few seconds later the screen went blank, and after a while it was relayed that the airport had just been bombed.

 

* * *

 

The attack in Sendai made it manifest – if there were still doubts about it – that the world at large was at war with mutants. After the bombs apparently came in even an assault team, but Quentin Quire wasn’t in the airport anymore.

When Maiko asked where Quire had gone, curious despite the deadness coming from seeing again otousan’s corpse, Lee grimaced and said she had no idea.

He certainly hadn’t come to the X-Men. His former teammates were scrambling, trying to understand where could he be. They had no telepath on deck, not anymore. Maybe Jean and Charlie would have more luck; maybe they’d found him already. The X-Men had no way of knowing, and they rather feared such an alliance. Laura said that, given what happened, Quire could very well join the Brotherhood’s crusade, and with how powerful he was, that could potentially be catastrophic.

Two days after the Egg cracked, with this threat and many others looming on their head, Lee had an idea.

Maiko wasn’t there, and what happened was relayed to her afterwards, when rumors and whispers had already made their way all around the school.

In truth, nobody was there, just Lee, who was monitoring the situation from the outside.

She had asked William Kaplan, the Sorcerer Supreme, if he could perhaps try and find Quire.

Kaplan had agreed.

He set up some kind of meditation circle and sat down among runes and other arcane symbols, proceeding to search for him through magical means. Lee waited outside the circle, ready to call for a team to go and convince Quire to come home.

Some time during the proceedings Kaplan’s heartbeat slowed and, Lee said, he “froze up”: he stopped moving; his breathing was too quiet.

Then he vanished.

Now, a week later, he still hadn’t come back.

His disappearance had looked, Lee said, exactly like when the Brood had appeared in the airport, or when Quire had disappeared; there was a special quality lingering in the air after the act, an after-impression, a faint shimmer that Lee could see with her vampiric sight.

So the working theory was that Quire had somehow noticed he was being tracked, and had abducted Kaplan.

He’d abducted the Sorcerer Supreme and was holding him God knew where, and that was even more frightening. Not only was he exhibiting a control over matter that was drastically different from what he’d so far showed; he also had managed to best someone whose whole area of work was completely different from his, someone who should have more than a few tricks up his sleeve.

After that, the mood in the school lowered quite a bit.

Maiko wondered what was happening. Had Quire allied himself with the Brotherhood after all?  There was no other reason for him to go against a fellow teammate like that. She tried to picture that, tried to picture Quire and Raze working together, intent on avenging otousan, and sometimes the thought satisfied her viscerally. At least someone was doing something.

Then she’d remember that her sibling now was on a bloodied path, had murdered so many already; and her heart wept. She’d failed nem. She’d failed everyone, but most of all she’d failed nem.

Laura must have seen something in her eyes, because one night Maiko returned to her room to find her knives gone.

She went to sleep thinking that maybe her aunt had been right to do so. She’d thank her in the morning.

The attack on the school came, as it happens, a few hours later.

 

* * *

 

The time machine was ready.

They were ready. They’d go to some indefinite moment after the Original Five’s arrival; Jean and Hank had decided the exact day, because no one knew what would be better but them, that had lived through those events. Hank hoped that it would cure him too; he expected to return to the future and find himself free of his younger counterpart. The changes, he said, would affect the travelers once they came back to their original time. That meant that they’d leave the past with Jean and find themselves without her when they came back; and the memory of her would slowly fade from their minds, as well.

Charlie was devastated.

But that was what they had to do; and for now they still had to leave, anyway.

They stood in front of the time machine, readying themselves for the trip. Jean had explained nem that ne had to take on another identity, for nir aspect would throw some X-Men off, make them suspicious; and now, as they prepared to leave, she suggested ne took Katheryne Pryde’s identity.

“Why her?” Ne asked as ne did what ne was told.

Jean shrugged. “She’s the most likely to make them trust us. She was a friend of Logan’s,” she hesitated, “Try to be affectionate with him, if you can?”

Bobby grunted.

Hank looked away. He seemed embarrassed. Raze just nodded. “Okay.” If they needed the old bastard’s trust, ne’d do it.

“And don’t mention your father,” Jean reminded nem gently. She’d explained that father was presumed dead in the time frame they were visiting. It had been a cold, harsh reminder of the reality of their own world, of what they were trying to accomplish. If anything, it had strengthened nir resolve.

“Yeah,” ne murmured.

“In fact, you could pretend old Logan’s your dad,” said ’Pool. “Y’know, if we get caught. To gain his trust. God knows he’d go all murdery if he learnt you’re Daken’s kid, when we’re going he’s just killed him, it was insa-”

Nir mind went curiously blank. There was a white noise in nir ears.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Wade.” It came from very far. Charlie cocooned nir mind and Raze eased into it, trying to make sense of ’Pool’s gibberish.

“Sorry, I thought we were doing everything we could so that it’d all fall back into continuity!”

“What.” This was Molly.

“But you know what, since Aaron and whatshisname didn’t seem to coordinate that much, I say fuck it! Say fuck it, Ellie!”

“’Pool, what the actual fuck –” And this was Charlie.

“You go, Ellie! This is an AU anyway, who cares, do what you want, baby!”

Silence.

Raze came to slowly, gasping against a sleek, sick feeling.

’Pool stood still, unexpectedly silent, a contrite expression on his face. He donned his glasses and threw the hood over his head.

“Inside voice,” Jean said smoothly.

_Sorry_ , Charlie told nem, _He almost seemed possessed._

_Yeah._

_You know he’s not right in the head, right? I don’t think Logan’s done what he said –_

_Yeah._ Raze couldn’t say anything else.

“Right,” Charlie said out lout, awkwardly. “Beast, would you do the honors?”

“Of course.” Hank was avoiding everyone’s gaze. He threw a glance at Jean and then placed his paw on a triangle of light on the time machine.

The last thing ne thought, before they were swallowed by a white heat, was that ne hoped they’d succeed.

All would be well when they came back.

 

* * *

 

It was hell on earth.

Maiko woke up to screams. Her body on high alert, she rolled off the bed to the floor to give herself a semblance of cover, scrambling for knives she too late recalled she didn’t have anymore.

The children were screaming.

There were shouts, too; the school wasn’t really manned these days, for there were always emergencies around the world – but thankfully there seemed to be someone that was trying to coordinate an evacuation. Maiko seemed to recall that Okonkwo was on site; the woman didn’t go on too many missions, usually preferring staying with the kids. And she thought she’d seen Pryde on her way to her room. There should be someone else too – the de-powered Cuckoos, maybe?

They were too few, and some of them were useless. They were outnumbered against an unknown enemy.

Maiko risked a glance at the door, that was still closed. She needed to leave and regroup with the others, but she couldn’t go that way – there were tendrils of smoke coming from the other side. She didn’t smell fire, so –

Some smoke grenade?

Someone was already in the building. How had they managed to come in?

Other screams. Maiko threw a glance over her shoulder. The safest way out would be the window, but there was a distinct chance there were people in the garden, laying in wait in the dark.

She raised a hand to the nightstand, searching blindly for her cell phone. When she caught it she immediately tried to contact Okonkwo.

The line was dead. She tried other numbers – Laura, Lee – but the line was dead.

Her breath hitched in her throat, Maiko looked at the window again. She had no choice – she had to leave through there, and hope she’d survive.

She dragged herself to it, keeping herself out of sight. When she reached the wall she outstretched her arm, hoping to open the window without having to get up and be seen – and, after some fumbling about in the darkness, she managed to. The cold winter air filled the room, together with the screams. Perhaps some kids were outside?

She needed to go and help them. She had no weapon, but she knew hand to hand combat. She had to help the kids –

God, let her not fail them too.

Her decision made, Maiko grabbed the sill and backflipped, only hoping nobody would be looking at her window at that exact moment. She collided with the external wall and grunted, breathless, but managed to hold her position.

She hadn’t exercised in months. But still, it was like riding a bike, wasn’t it? She looked frantically around for purchase and found some dents in the wall. She began her slow descent; her body, triggered by the screams, wanted to move faster, but her brain knew she had to be careful.

So she moved with care, worrying the dents with her feet before using them. She knew she made an easy target, moving down the wall as she was, but she needed to get out, needed to get to the kids. Needed to save them –

A shuffle, a sound so low she thought she’d imagined it, but the hair on the back of her neck rose. Trusting her instincts, she risked a glance to the side –

Her heart leapt to her throat _. Raze?_

_No._ Dread run through her veins.

Yellow glowing eyes were staring at her. There was some light, coming from the moon, or whatever had been used to attack the school, and the little girl beside her looked at her with no recognition, no empathy, no emotion whatsoever. Maiko was just another target.

Maiko opened her mouth – what was she going to say? Did she really think she could appeal to this poor clone? – but nothing came out of it but a rush of something wet and warm.

_Oh._

Her fingers slipped; she felt her body fall. Curiously, it seemed to take forever. She didn’t think her room was that up high –

She collided with the ground, pain flared in her body. She whimpered, tried to move her head; there, on the wall, climbing up, going for the windows – dozens of dark figures. Something illuminated the school, giving it a spectral aspect. The screams were still going.

Maiko blinked.

_Raze_ , she thought. Then, _Oh God, ne’ll be all alone_ –

_Otou_ -

Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Quentin bit his tongue hard. Of course he’d come here, of course he’d bring Daken here; here where everything had started.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin travels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! I couldn’t leave you hanging ~~and I love this chapter so much and I _had_ to post it and I hope you love it as much as I do~~. Next chapter will come next month, as usual.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings** : suicide ideation, rape

39.

“I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map;  
And knew that somehow I could find my way back.  
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too –  
So I stayed in the darkness with you.”

Florence + the Machine – _Cosmic love_

 

 

white

all

was

white

 

and pulsing.

He floated in white heat, knowing everything, feeling nothing. Everything was distant and focused, sharp. He knew what was happening and had happened and would happen, here and everywhere. He didn’t feel anything about it. He just knew, and analyzed everything, calculating paths and outcomes, like he’d done before and would do again.

He was one with the heat. He was it and it was him, joined together, memories and visions and dreams. It was all the same. White, and pulsing. A never-ending rhythm that lulled him.

He knew. He saw a man with a halo and a Broodling with an easy smile and a woman crying, and others, a woman with a crown of thorns and a blue child with two minds and a woman with tears of blood and a woman with a star for a head and a man with two minds and a man with a thousand and a thing with no mind at all, and a man with a tin heart and a woman with darkness in her mouth. Children and men and women with no mind, and a queen with a heavy crown and a man with a cape of blood. Men with a bloodied hand each and men with both hands dripping, and a woman with no hand at all. He saw strings between them all and knew that he’d tried already and he’d need to try again.

He knew that all was white and pulsing and nothing mattered and nothing would change, all would change. He knew all would end in fire.

He knew that all would burn.

He knew that he couldn’t and he knew that he would. And he knew what could change and he knew what could not. He knew he’d tried already and he knew the truth.

He knew everything and he floated, floated, floated in the white heat that scorched everything.

He knew when time was up. He knew he would forget.

He built a box inside a room inside a house inside a city inside a continent inside a world inside a galaxy inside a universe inside a multiverse inside his mind and then he woke up.

 

* * *

 

Quentin opened his eyes.

He closed them again. There was a weight between his arms and he’d seen what it was and he had to close his eyes. Flashes burned beneath his eyelids, Broo crumbling to ashes and rings of fire around him and minds screaming, all the world screaming, and the heavy body in his arms, still warm and –

Warm. The body in his arms was warm.

He opened his eyes, forced his gaze to rest upon the beloved features. Glassy eyes stared up at him, dried blood around the mouth, down the chin to the neck. Rivulets of dried blood on the chest.

There was no hole in that chest.

Quentin reached out tentatively, extending his mind, his breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what was happening but he knew it was freezing and he knew the last thing he remembered was a warm day. He knew he’d been shot – he’d let himself be shot – and he was hale now, and there was no gun wound in the body that he held. Some time had obviously passed and there was something else, a flash of white, a pulsation drumming in his ears, and he’d healed and Daken had healed and perhaps then, perhaps –

But his mind met nothing. There was no joyous connection, only a cold emptiness and those vacant eyes staring up at him, a faint smile still frozen up, like a mockery, telling him ‘ _Did you really think I was alive?_ ’ There was nothing and he’d hoped for nothing, and Daken was still dead in his arms.

He waited for the pain to come with the realization, for the flames to swallow the world whole, he didn’t care, let it burn; but nothing came. He felt the Phoenix rushing through his veins, the power, and distantly, a rush of wings; but it lay dormant for now, as numb as he felt himself. _Traitor bird_ , he thought, and then he recalled that he couldn’t burn everything down. There were people on this planet – people he cared about. People Daken cared about. He couldn’t wipe it all away.

He had to live with this. He wanted to get back to the white and the heat, Daken in his arms; he willed it to happen, he willed a strong membrane to form between them and the world, protecting them, enclosing them in a bubble from whence they couldn’t ever come back. He wanted to remain like that until his body collapsed, to be united with Daken until the end.

Nothing happened. No Egg formed around them, nothing came. He was alone amongst the rubble he’d caused and cold and miserable, and the faint warmth in his arms was fading already.

He had to keep Daken warm. Daken hated the cold.

He willed them both away and this time something happened. That same strong pull he’d experienced when he’d summoned Broo to his side, to try and save Daken. He reached out through the fabric of the universe and pulled and next he was –

He looked around. Gone was the airport, but the cold remained. Some light filtered in through gauzy curtains. They were in a big room, a sort of living room it seemed; there were large sofas and a mahogany table and holo projectors and a glass bookcase, some shelves cracked. Everything was covered by a layer of dust.

Quentin bit his tongue hard. Of course he’d come here, of course he’d bring Daken here; here where everything had started.

He secured his grip on Daken’s shoulder and slid an arm under Daken’s legs and went to his feet. He stumbled, but gritted his teeth and held them upright. He took the corridor to his right, the path seared in his brain; he passed a study walled with bookcases and a few closed doors and then he reached his destination.

The door opened to his will, revealing the room with a lavishly arranged bed where he’d confessed, where he’d almost destroyed everything. Where he’d realized the depths of what he felt, faced with the man he’d dreamed about for five years, guilt and love closing his throat.

He felt a lump in his throat now, as he walked to the bed. Outside, the sun shone through the glass wall, reverberating through the snow in the garden. The elaborate lanterns extinguished, the path invisible under the white substance.

All white and pulsing, pulsing in his ears.

Quentin laid lovingly Daken upon the soft, silken covers. Daken’s head lolled, staring lifelessly at the ceiling, that smile still gracing his lips. Quentin traced Daken’s mouth with his fingers, something hot and heavy in his chest even now that he’d relieved himself of his burden. He caressed Daken’s face, relearning every curve and every wrinkle, and finally closed Daken’s eyes, leaning down to kiss his eyelids; moving on to his brow and his cheeks and his nose and his mouth, possessed by something sharp and terrible, a grief that had no name, too large for words. The guilt filled his mouth with bile, he tasted the sharp tang of blood on his tongue; if only, if only, it echoed in his ears. If only he’d done better.

If only the last memory of them together wasn’t a fight that had poisoned his thoughts for months, that must have been of no comfort to Daken at all in the darkness and the coldness of the torture chamber. If only he’d been faster, better. If only he could go all over it again, and change everything, and save Daken.

The drumming in his ears intensified. His mouth was dry and he came up for air, swallowing it in great gulps, his chest torn by spasms. He sat there beside Daken, fistfuls of sheets in his hands, shaking so hard his teeth clattered. He was whimpering words he couldn’t quite make out, apologies and reassurances that he couldn’t make anymore. All was lost and leaking blood, everything done, and there was no mercy, no salvation.

Through clouded eyes he gazed upon Daken. His face was wet with Quentin’s tears, the blood given new life by the moisture and smearing the beloved features. Sniffling hard, Quentin got up and staggered to the bathroom. There were soft purple towels covered in dust and he washed them in the sink before returning to the bedroom. He dabbed gently at Daken’s face, Daken’s torso, wiping the blood away. When he was finished, he could almost think that Daken was just sleeping, ready to wake up any moment now, smile that soft contented smile of his and watch Quentin with sleepy eyes.

Quentin lay beside him and pressed a palm to his chest, where he recalled the bullet hole had been – its appearance and width seared in his brain forever, the exact amount of blood pumping out of it as the seconds went by, the feel and slickness of it on his fingertips as he tried to stop it, applying pressure to it –

He fanned his fingers over Daken’s chest. Beneath his hand, where Daken’s heart was, all was cold and unmoving.

 

* * *

 

They’d lay there forever.

Quentin had decided, and that he would do. He wouldn’t move away from that spot beside Daken; he’d promised him. He’d promised that he’d stand by him forever.

He couldn’t break that promise.

He lay there, warming the room with his powers. They were useless but at least they could keep Daken warm. He inched closer, wrapped his arm around Daken, and lay there, his head a breath away from Daken’s, so close that he could see the little veins beneath his frail skin. The signs of torture were gone and he lay there, perfect and unmoving, a marble statue of stunning beauty, a dead thing in Quentin’s arms. He peppered Daken’s shoulder with kisses, brushed his fingers against Daken’s jaw. Daken’s head looked naked without his hair. Quentin caressed the light stubble, nuzzled Daken’s cheek. He was so cold. Quentin had to keep him warm.

He slid them both under the covers.

 

* * *

 

It occurred to him – sometime during the night – that Daken should smell.

He should smell and be rigid and soft. He should – Quentin bit down a sob – go through rigor mortis. But he wasn’t.

He was just so horribly, horribly cold. Quentin raised the temperature in the room. He was sweating, but his comfort didn’t matter.

He had no idea what had happened while he was under, he didn’t even have the faintest idea of how much time had passed; but this wasn’t normal. The disappearance of all signs on Daken’s body wasn’t, either. There must be a reason. What had healed him?

If it had been Quentin – or the Phoenix – if he was slowing down the process, could he do something else?

Could he – he blinked away the tears – could he save Daken, perhaps? Bring him back?

But how?

He reached out. He opened his mind like he hadn’t ever done before, searching for him. Surely he could find him somehow! His arms wrapped tightly around Daken’s body, he squinted his eyes shut, and he let his mind roam aimlessly, searching for the tendrils of Daken’s consciousness. He’d touched it briefly as he died, and he knew he could recognize it.

But he couldn’t find it. There was still that faint pulsing in his ears, and flashes of hot white across his vision, and a distant rush of flaming wings; he strained, but he felt nothing. Daken was in his arms, but he hadn’t ever been as far from him as in this moment. It felt as if he was dying all over again, there beside him, his body cold and remote. Quentin cried, feeling little and useless and hopeless, snot and tears mixing together, marring Daken’s shoulder. He hid his face in the crook of Daken’s neck and sobbed without restraint, with violent gulps and abject sounds that wrecked his chest.

Afterwards he cradled Daken to his chest, muttering things he couldn’t even understand.

 

* * *

 

It was hot and blazing white, the snow blinding him. He lay facing the windows, but he didn’t have the strength to turn. He pressed his lips to Daken’s brow and hummed tankas. When he reached the last one he went over them again.

And again, and again. His throat was sore and his mouth dry and his stomach was a knot of pain. It hurt everywhere, his chest ached terribly, but he didn’t stop. When he couldn’t feel the air in his lungs anymore, he still kept going. His lips were chapped, sharp things against Daken’s soft skin, but being near him was the only nourishment he needed.

He didn’t plan on lasting long, either.

It was a last song, a few last moments. He’d cherish them all on the way to death.

 

* * *

 

Time lost all meaning. He was shivering in the dark but when he closed his eyes he felt it, a whisper of white, a blinding heat. Encouraging him to keep going, just a little while yet. He was almost done, it was almost done, something would come and take him away and everything would be all right.

Everything would be all right.

Everything, everything would be all right.

 

* * *

 

A whisper against his mind.

He didn’t know where he was and he didn’t know how much time had passed, but he felt a faint pull. Something – someone – was looking for him, would take him away from Daken. The presence touched him and pulled and Quentin reached back, grasping it with fiery talons, and yanked, something fierce screeching in his ears after so long. He welcomed back the Phoenix and yanked hard, not wanting to be pulled away from this room, this bed, from Daken’s arms.

“Fuck.” The voice seemed Billy’s. Quentin curled protectively around Daken’s body, shielding him from view. Billy had no right to see him. Not like this, cold and white and dead. “Quentin?”

Quentin shook his head. _No. Leave me here. Leave us alone_.

There was a rustle of fabric. “Quentin,” Billy said softly. He’d come closer. He laid a hand over his shoulder.

 _Leave us_ alone!

Billy felt it; he hissed, but he kept his hand there. “Quentin, he’s dead.”

Quentin sobbed. _You think I don’t know that?_ He held Daken tighter.

“You need -” A pause. The only thing breaking the silence was their quiet breathing. _Daken can’t breathe anymore_. Quentin hid his face against Daken’s cold chest. _I need to keep him warm_. The temperature in the room rose and Billy heaved a sigh. “Quentin, you need to let go.”

_No._

“You need to let him go.”

“No,” Quentin croaked, his voice weak. He felt like he hadn’t spoken in aeons. “Leave,” he said. Begged.

Another sigh. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Leave us alone.”

“Quentin.” Billy squeezed his shoulder. “He’s dead. You’re alive. You need –”

 _Don’t tell me what I need!_ Quentin projected everything on him, all he felt and thought. Billy moaned, his breath ragged.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, tears manifest in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Quentin. But you need to let go. You need to come with me. There’s a war –”

“You think I care?” Some part of him did. Some part of him, buried beneath the ashes and the grief, told him he was an X-Man. And he had to fight.

But there was no fight left in him anymore. No strength.

“Mutants are dying, Quentin.”

_Good. Let it burn. Let it all burn._

_No_ , he thought, horrified. But still he couldn’t bring himself to sit up. He couldn’t leave the room, the bed. He couldn’t leave Daken.

Billy let go of his shoulder. He was walking, slow measured steps, to allow Quentin to prepare, and then he was in front of him, infinite understanding in his gaze. He looked older than his years, matured ages while Quentin was gone. There were clear lines of grief on his features. “We need you.”

Quentin shook his head. “Go away.”

“Mutants are dying, Quentin,” Billy repeated. “You can’t hide here anymore. I know you want to, I know you feel you need to.” He bent down. “But you aren’t alone, Quentin. We’ll help you. Just please, come back.”

“Help me.” Quentin snorted. “Like Broo, huh?” He felt that too, but distantly, as if he hadn’t really done it. He recalled his friend’s limbs contorting, his body disappearing, but it didn’t feel like anything at all. He knew it had snapped him out of it, he knew it had made him come back to Daken’s body in his arms, to the fire all around them and the screaming minds of the world; he knew that killing Broo had made him realize he had to be stopped. And Raze had been there, and ne’d done what ne had to do, nir own heart bleeding at the sight in front of nem. Ne hadn’t wavered. “I’m damaged goods, Billy. Leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that –”

“ _Leave us alone!_ ” He screamed then, with his voice and his mind, he screeched with fiery wings of flame and a scorching hot white force that left him breathless. Billy conjured something, a mind shield that barely held against Quentin’s attack. His cloak rustled and the gem at his throat flashed, and Quentin stared, struck by a sudden, mad thought.

“Quentin,” Billy panted, but Quentin payed him no heed. He felt exhilarated, elated. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? It was obvious!

“You’re the Sorcerer Supreme,” he said, propping himself up on an elbow, the other arm still curled around Daken’s shoulders. Billy shifted, alarmed, likely seeing something in his eyes. A manic light, no doubt. He didn’t care. He hadn’t felt this alive in months. Since before Daken’s arrest.

“Quentin –” Billy began, slowly, as if talking to a scared, cornered animal.

“You’re the Sorcerer Supreme,” Quentin repeated. “You can solve this. You can fix this. You can fix everything!”

“Quentin, it doesn’t work like that –” Billy held up a hand, pleadingly. Quentin ignored him.

“You can bring him back,” he said excitedly. But of course! That was why he’d kept Daken’s body whole, why the Phoenix had healed him. So that there’d be a vessel for his soul to return to! Quentin hugged Daken close to his chest. “You can! You’re the Sorcerer Supreme, you can call his soul forth or whatever, bring it back, and his body’s here, waiting for him. You can do that! You can, right?”

Billy grimaced and straightened up. He didn’t answer. Quentin sat up, holding Daken close to his heart.

“I know you can,” he said quietly. Billy almost shook his head, seemed to think better of it – he was eyeing him warily – and settled for a constipated expression.

“I can’t play God, Quentin.”

“You wouldn’t be.” Quentin struggled to make him see, make him understand. “It’s on me, okay? I’m asking you to. I – I think I preserved him for this purpose. He seems alive, look.” He tilted his head, nuzzled Daken’s cheek. There was still no stink. Somehow, without even consciously deciding it, he’d made it so that Daken could come back.

He had to fix this. He had the chance to fix everything and he’d do it.

He looked up again, finding Billy staring at him with terrible pity. “Please,” he murmured. “Please, Billy.”

Billy closed his eyes. Quentin didn’t see how it could take so much time to agree. He would be saving a life; why was he being so difficult?

“And the others,” said Billy softly, gently, “All the others that are dead? Don’t you want to save them? Don’t you want to save Broo?”

“Do you have bodies for them?” Quentin snapped. He seethed. He knew what Billy was trying to do. He wanted to impart on him that this was wrong, that they shouldn’t play favorites, that with his power came great responsibilities. That he couldn’t just go and save one soul when so many had died, many of them their friends.

And some part of him knew it. He knew that if he did this, if they saved Daken, he’d had to live for the rest of his life with the guilt about all he’d killed or hadn’t saved.

But at least Daken would be alive as well.

Billy turned his head, avoiding his gaze. “No.”

“Then what the fuck are you talking about? Daken’s here, and you can save him…”

Billy grimaced. “You’re asking me to abuse my powers –”

“I’m asking you – I’m begging you!” Quentin cried out. “Do you want me to crawl on my knees, because I’ll do it. I’ll do it, Billy. You want me to do it?” He clutched at Daken’s shoulders, reluctant to leave him, but he’d do it if necessary. He’d debase himself. “You want me to kiss your boots? I’ll prostate myself, huh, how’s that, just do it, Billy. Save him. Please.” He held Daken tightly, trying to meet Billy’s gaze. Billy was still staring anywhere but at him, his mouth a thin white line, his fingers flexing as if he was about to conjure some spell. Or if he was considering.

“Please,” Quentin repeated. Billy’s resolve crumbled; his shoulders sagged and he heaved a heavy sigh, clenching his fists, turning to finally look at him.

“And you’ll come with us,” he said flatly.

Quentin nodded eagerly, hysterically, a bubble of laughter threatening to come out of his lips, exhilarated. He dug his fingers into Daken’s shoulder. He’d save him! He’d see him again. He could embrace him again, apologize and hold him in his arms, forever. “Yes. Me and Daken. We’ll come, I’ll keep him safe, I’ll fight your war, whatever you want.”

“Quentin, I’m not agreeing in order to force you to –”

“Don’t insult me.” He felt a rictus of a smile on his face, a big forced thing. The muscles in his cheeks hurt.

“I mean,” Billy took a step towards him, hesitantly, “It’s not _my_ war. It’s on all of us. And you don’t have to stay alone, Quentin, you can come back with us, to the school, and –”

“I won’t be alone, you idiot.” Quentin cradled Daken to his bosom. “Get on with it, will you?”

 

* * *

 

They moved to the living room, an apt name for the occasion.

Quentin moved the furniture to the side to make space, reminding him of a lifetime ago, of clearing the floor to allow Hiro to play karuta. He choked up at the thought, but held on. Things would be better soon.

Billy made a circle on the floor, drawing his blood and painting symbols with it. He asked for Quentin’s as well, and he obliged gladly. Raze’s blood would be ideal, said Billy, but ne was AWOL. He paused as if he expected Quentin to ask what was happening, but he honestly didn’t care.

Daken would care, he thought guiltily; he’d care about what had become of his child. But in this exact moment Quentin couldn’t think about anything else but the fact he’d soon see Daken again.

So he waited outside the circle, holding Daken tightly, as Billy put on the final touches. Then his friend made him lay Daken’s body inside the circle and sat down inside it as well, placing Daken’s head on his lap. He put his hands on either side of Daken’s face, his thumbs on Daken’s forehead, his fingers laced to form intricate shapes; and he inhaled, and closed his eyes.

Quentin waited. It seemed it was all he was good for. Now that it had been taken out of his hands, hunger and exhaustion were finally making themselves known, and he swayed; he managed to hold onto a couch just before he slid to the floor. He leaned against it, his gaze fixed on the sight in front of him; he wouldn’t eat until Daken was alive, breathing and blinking in that circle. He’d look up, confused, and he’d see Quentin, and a great weight would be lifted off Quentin’s chest, and all would be well.

And yet – even he, ignorant as he was about the magical arts, could see that something was wrong.

Billy’s brow was knitted in concentration, his jaw clenched; beads of perspiration on his forehead. There was obviously no draft in the room, but Billy’s cape billowed behind him, all around him, and the gem at his throat shone of a sick light. Quentin stood and waited, knowing he couldn’t do anything, dread filling his veins. He tried to reach out, but there was a purple shape in lieu of Billy’s mind.

Eventually Billy came to, his labored breathing filling the air. Quentin rushed to his side – to Daken’s side. He reached out, but Daken still wasn’t there.

His hand dropped. “What happened?”

Billy grimaced. “I can’t say.”

Quentin looked sharply at him. “Can’t or won’t?”

Billy shook his head. “I’m not the enemy, Quentin. It’s – difficult to find him, there’s –” He sighed. “There’s a resistance.”

“A resistance?” His heart in his throat, Quentin gazed down at the serene features. He recalled all their conversations, Daken’s resistance at being told that the future could change, that he could be saved. He’d said that he couldn’t be saved, if it meant that Raze could have as well, and that he’d failed in doing so. “He… resists you?” _He doesn’t want to come back._

Billy hesitated. “No, I – a resistance from the environment, so to speak.”

“The environment?” Quentin furrowed his brow. He laid a hand on Daken’s chest. It was too cold in the room, and he raised the temperature a bit. It wouldn’t do to have him wake up and find himself freezing.

“The – area I was searching.” Billy averted his gaze. There was something he wasn’t saying.

“For fuck’s sake, speak plainly. Don’t coddle me.” He could take anything if it meant getting Daken back. “What’s the problem?”

Billy bit his lower lip. He seemed really torn. “He’s… he’s in hell, Quentin.”

 

* * *

 

In hell.

Daken was in hell.

Visions of unspeakable torments filled Quentin’s mind; screams and flames.

Daken couldn’t be in hell. He couldn’t be suffering yet again, after all he’d been through. He couldn’t be lost and bleeding, out of Quentin’s reach, because of what, some murders he’d committed?

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t –

“Please breathe, Quentin.” Billy had a hand on his arm, was speaking quietly. “Easy. I got you.”

“But who’s got him?” he sobbed, and clutched at Daken’s hand. “We have, we have to get him back, Billy, he can’t –”

“Easy…”

“He can’t stay there!” Quentin wrenched his arm free from Billy’s grip. “He’s suffering there, I can’t take it, we have to, you have to –”

“Yeah, okay. Okay, Quentin. Just please, control your powers.”

With some effort, Quentin reined the flames in. They were almost on them, skimming the edge of the circle, threatening to mar Daken’s feet.

He took a shaky breath. “Help him,” he whimpered.

“Yeah. Shh, we’ll save him. It’s all right.” Billy rubbed his shoulder. His hand run down Quentin’s arm and he covered the hand that was joined with Daken’s. “I’ll need your help.”

Abject relief took his breath away. “Anything.”

 

* * *

 

Billy made him come into the circle. He arranged the three of them in a different way, putting Daken between them and cupping Daken’s cheek with a hand; the other, he put on Daken’s hands, that he’d fixed so that his fingers were laced together to form a strange symbol, which Quentin’s eyes couldn’t quite make out; it seemed to double his vision, couldn’t be looked at directly.

Billy made him mirror his position; then, when they were both touching Daken’s fingers, he directed Quentin so that the three of them formed something else, and now when he looked he seemed to be using a kaleidoscope, and he couldn’t make sense of the fragments.

Billy instructed him on what to do. They had to breathe in unison, and he stressed that Quentin should stay close to him while they journeyed.

They closed their eyes, and set off to save Daken.

And all was

white

white and

pulsing.

White and then black, but the thrumming remained. In his ears, in his lungs; a low, slow drum, punctuated by heat. Cold. Heat. Like a tide.

Hell wasn’t made of flames; it was a cold place. Or maybe this was just for Daken. His own personal hell. Gritting his metaphorical teeth, Quentin floated, looking for him; but it was pitch black, a slick, dense darkness. He moved like through molasses; it assaulted his nose, his ears, his mouth, suffocating and cold and so sweet. He called out to Billy, but nothing happened. He was alone.

And it would be easy, so easy to just let go. Let himself be lulled by the cold, the dark. Sleep forever, for there was nothing for him anymore – but Daken was here. He was here, somewhere, and Quentin had to save him.

He reached inside himself, to that place where the Phoenix lay in wait, and pushed. Blinding light exploded, flames in a pattern around him, like ropes of fire going in different directions from his epicenter. He took a step, moving in the darkness, the flames moving with him, and then another step, and another, calling out to Daken, hoping he’d hear him, come to him. Billy was gone but Quentin didn’t need him; he’d find Daken on his own.

He didn’t know for how long he walked. Distance was a construct exactly as time, and there was no way to measure either. He just walked, hoping he’d picked the right direction, hoping he’d known if he was moving away from Daken. He walked until his legs gave up and then he crawled, and when he couldn’t do that anymore he used his hands. He called out Daken’s name until his throat was raw, until his mind was aching. He bled in the darkness, knowing he couldn’t give up, knowing any inch he conquered could bring him closer to Daken.

Finally, a shape in front of him. He cried out and crawled, whimpering with relief. He dragged himself, the figure out of focus, preparing himself for the worst. Preparing what to say. He’d beg for his forgiveness and reassure him and bring him home. Everything would be all right – but then he got close enough, and he stopped dead, stunned.

Evan sat on a mound of skulls, his legs dangling, wearing his Apocalypse regalia, yet looking like a kid. He stared down at him with a smirk, his lips red with blood. “Not who you expected?” He cocked his head to the side.

Evan? No, it couldn’t be Evan. He was hallucinating; he must be still in Daken’s house, in Daken’s bed, still holding on to Daken’s corpse. Billy had never come, and he was hallucinating. He wasn’t saving Daken, he was dying – and Evan was a last trick from his subconscious, a cruel gift, a reminder of his failures.

Evan stood up. “No, no, no,” he tutted, “I’m here, baby. It’s real.” He descended the mound as the skulls moved to form a stair until he was at eye level with Quentin. “You didn’t come for me, and you come for someone else?”

“Evan –” He was hallucinating; he must be hallucinating. He couldn’t be facing this. His memories had faded with time, putting the blood-thirsty monster in place of the young man he’d loved – but Evan was here now, looking as he looked like when they were still innocent, when all was simple; but his eyes were hard, and unforgiving.

He grabbed Quentin’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Quentin struggled, legs kicking, his fingers fighting against Evan’s hand, trying to set himself free. He had to set himself free. He had to save Daken.

Evan’s features contorted. “And me, Quentin? What about me? It’s a fickle thing, your love, then.”

Quentin’s eyes filled with tears. He’d done everything wrong, but he knew that he couldn’t save Evan. He’d known it, at the end. Evan had had to be stopped. He couldn’t be saved.

But Daken, God, Daken…

“Daken, Daken, Daken.” Evan threw him to the side. “He’s fickle, too. Look what he’s doing, baby.”

In the air materialized a window. Evan held him against it, forcing him to press his face against cold glass.

It was snowing, outside. There were wolves’ corpses, and two figures rutting in the darkness. The bigger one was grunting, moaning his pleasure, fangs bared, nails sinking into the snow. His features were illuminated by a sick light, and he looked so much like Logan that it was uncanny and horrifying. But it wasn’t him. He had long grey hair, and sharp fangs.

Under him was – Quentin choked out a sob.

Daken just lay there, taking it all, fingers dug deeply into the monster’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his massive torso. Split in two, his head lolled like he was dead, long black hair fanned like a halo on the snow. He was quiet, whimpering every now and then, and his eyes were glazed, unseeing, blank. Quentin knew that look.

His mouth filled with bile, with rage at what Evan had implied, at what was happening in front of him. He shrieked, ash in his lungs, and spread out his arms, wings of fire that embraced the scene. Something fizzled, but it was an impenetrable glass, a dome of coldness and despair and pain. He couldn’t get in. He couldn’t save Daken from that nightmare.

He turned. Evan started, took a step back, but then he sneered. “Like what you saw?”

“How do I get in?” Quentin snapped. Perhaps it was a hallucination, but he needed to save Daken all the same. His flames lapped at Evan’s feet.

“You’re going to burn me alive again, Quentin?” His smirk was obscene.

“You’re dead,” Quentin screeched, and caught him with flaming ropes. “And you’re not Evan.”

“Of course I’m Evan, baby. Don’t you know me?”

“He’d be horrified at seeing that,” Quentin snarled, trying not to think about the sickening sounds behind him. It seemed that Romulus was climaxing. “How dare you. How _dare_ you taint his face for this charade?”

Not-Evan laughed. “Okay, I’m not Evan. In fact I think you burned him away from existence. How does _that_ make you feel, huh?” He struggled against his bonds and Quentin tightened them, making him scream. He wanted to at least make him stop using that face. He had to make him talk.

He had to save Daken.

He hadn’t saved Evan, but Daken – he had to.

“How’s that fixation workin’ for ye, Quentin? Ye know how unhealthy this is?” Not-Evan panted, his skin burnt in patches. _Oh, you don’t know the half of it_ , the Phoenix whispered. It dug its talons into Not-Evan’s flesh, who broke off to shriek, smoke coming from his wounds.

“How do I get in?” Quentin repeated. He tuned out Romulus’ moans, Daken’s sobs. Blood was thumping at this temple, screeches echoed in his ears, he saw white and fire; but he focused on the task at hand, reaching inside the monster in front of him and pushing until his features melted, revealing a man with long blond hair and sharp canines.

Sabretooth. The bastard snarled, struggling against the bonds, his flesh tarnished by the flames. “Get _fucked_ , boy!”

“How. Do. I. Get. In?” Quentin’s mind was a sharp tool, even here, and he cut through Sabretooth like butter. The stench was nauseating, not unlike burnt flesh, but the bastard deserved everything that came his way. Quentin remembered how sick he’d felt when he’d seen what Raze had done to Sabretooth, but now he only wanted to hurt him. To make him pay. To make him reveal how to save Daken. “Tell me how to get in.”

“Fuck ye!” Sabretooth panted. “Ye think I’ll help ’im? After he took my _son_ from me? Ye think I’ll help any of –”

“Enough.”

The sharp command didn’t come from Quentin. It was a woman’s voice, deep and cold, ringing through Quentin’s very being.

“It’s time for you to get back to your punishment, Victor Creed.” The voice came from everywhere, and Sabretooth sagged, then vanished altogether.

Quentin howled in frustration. “No!” he snarled, turning around, searching wildly for whoever had spoken. “Tell me how to get in! _Tell me_ –”

“You can’t get in.”

From the darkness came a tall figure draped in silk and bells. She had goat’s legs and a black crown that shone of a terrible light. Years had passed, but he recognized Illyana immediately.

 _I can’t?_ The Phoenix dug its talons into the ground. Hot white cracked the darkness. _You think you can give me orders, Earthling?_

Illyana didn’t seem bothered. She held up a jeweled hand, keeping the blinding heat at bay. “This is my realm, o Eldest One.” She dipped her head, the bells tinkling. “You can’t take my subjects away from their earned torment.”

“Earned?” Quentin spat, taking a step towards her. “He earned being raped, is that it? And what of Romulus? I don’t think he’s being punished!” He pointed a shaking finger at the horrifying scene taking place beside them.

“The soul known as Romulus is being punished as we speak.” Illyana cast him a sardonic glance. “That which you see is not him, but a shadow conjured by Daken’s own soul. Punishments are often a collection of one’s worst memories.”

Quentin didn’t care about the mechanics of punishment in hell. Knowing that horrid scene had played out in reality only made his stomach churn. “Make it stop,” he snarled.

Illyana tilted her head to the side, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Should I cease punishing murderers and rapists simply because it makes you uneasy, Quentin Quire? Simply because you love them?” She closed her raised hand in a fist. The scene stopped; Romulus vanished, but the snow remained. Daken lay still, staring up at something Quentin couldn’t see, shaking violently. Quentin tried to reach him, but still he couldn’t penetrate the cold dome.

“Let me in,” he snapped in Illyana’s direction. He laid a hand on the hard glass, his gaze fixed on the love of his life.

“I have a duty, Quentin Quire.” The Queen of Hell’s voice was firm, but not wholly unkind. “The same duty you abided by, when you rid the world of the Apocalypse.”

“Daken’s not Evan,” Quentin snarled as he turned to look at her, irritated and furious and desperate. Beside her – had he always been there? – was Billy, an apologetic look on his face.

Illyana cocked her head; the bells tinkled. “Of course not. But he’ll bring the Apocalypse upon all living things.” With her hands she wove intricate shapes. “You seek to free the world serpent,” she said, a deep cadenced lilt to her voice. Something in Quentin stirred, memories of – of something, distant and remote, hidden behind layers.

 _Yes_ , the Phoenix sighed.

Quentin didn’t understand. “The world serpent? It’s just Daken –”

“The sea dragon,” continued Illyana, “Harbinger of Ragnarøkkr.” Beside her, Billy looked nauseous, and Quentin still didn’t understand. An eerie laughter echoed in the darkness. “The weird sisters saw it, and I can see it.” Illayna showed him her palms. “You cannot exist while he does, or you’ll bring death upon all.”

 _His death unleashes you_. Three-Voices-As-One whispered in his ears. _Already you almost gave in. How many times must it happen before you succumb? He’s a mortal, bound to die._

_Do succumb. It’s what you were born for. Death and rebirth, in a constant cycle._

_It’s how things are_ , he remembered. _This is our nature. Do you understand? We shall do this eventually, it cannot be helped. We shall burn_. The Phoenix whispered, unlocking what he’d hidden. _Do you remember? Do you remember what you saw in the White Hot Room?_

He did.

 _Are you helping me?_ He asked, hesitant.

The Phoenix laughed.

He remembered, and he knew what he had to do.

He remembered everything. God, he remembered _everything_.

He looked at Illyana. “Let me in.” She saw it in his eyes, saw worlds in his pupils. She saw the pain and the sacrifice. She saw the choice and the festering wound.

Without another word from her, the dome vanished. It all vanished – the snow, the cold – and Quentin walked, one step after the other. He heard Billy – “What are you _doing_?” – and Illyana – “Stand ready, Sorcerer Supreme” – and then they stopped being of importance, because Daken was in front of him. Naked and shivering, covered with blood from head to toe, like a newborn taken from his mother’s dead womb.

Quentin gathered him in his arms, exuding heat and love. He willed away the blood, and it vanished as warmth spread through Daken’s limbs. Daken moaned, his lashes fluttered, tears gathered in them.

“I got you, anata,” Quentin whispered. Daken opened his eyes, bright blue marred by pain. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Quentin?” Daken’s voice was so faint. “What are you doing?”

“I’m fixing this.” Flames erupted, enclosing them both. “It’s going to be all right, I promise.”

“Fixing -?” Daken struggled weakly. “Don’t bring me back. You can’t bring me back.” Quentin’s chest tightened.

“It’s going to be all right,” he repeated. It sounded hollow to his own ears.

 _Go on, host_. The Phoenix held them both. _There’s nothing else you can do_.

“Don’t –” Daken was crying. “I can’t take this anymore, please. Raze’s so hurt and Maiko’s dead, my baby’s _dead_. I saw her _die_ , I _felt_ it. Please make it stop. Please just make it s-s-stop –”

“I’m fixing this,” Quentin murmured. “I’m fixing everything. I love you, Daken.”

 _This comes from love_.

He held Daken, and he didn’t know whose tears were wetting his cheeks, but he knew it was the only way.

Everything vanished in a flash of burning white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : “Yep, nice speech. It’s almost a shame it was all a lie.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Atom unfolds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update again, because quite frankly, I need some positivity in my life right now. I hope you enjoy! This chapter loosely adapts the _Battle of the Atom_ storyline.
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings** : canon deaths, casual ableism, physical abuse, talk of suicide.

40.

“To wreck, to wreck, to wreck,  
Did I build this ship to wreck?  
Good God, under starless skies we are lost,  
And into the breach we got tossed,  
And the water's coming in fast –”

Florence + the Machine – _Ship to wreck_

 

 

Taking the Original Five back to their time was proving to be more difficult than they’d thought.

At first it had all seemed to go perfectly. The X-Men of the past were wary, but they were starting to listen; Raze had even subjected nemself to an awkward hug with the old bastard in order to make them believe them. They sold themselves as the X-Men of the future, as Jean and Hank said that presenting themselves as the Brotherhood was the fastest way to be thrown out; and told them that terrible things would happen if the Original Five weren’t sent back to where they belonged.

They didn’t give too many details; it wasn’t right to paint how bleak was the future. They had a chance to change everything, and recounting the horrors they’d come from seemed to be a discourtesy.

It was so strange to watch them, these X-Men of the past. They had no idea what was coming, still so young and almost carefree. There were the kids, of course – they didn’t know what would become of them, they didn’t know that almost all of them would meet a terrible fate – but the adults looked so innocent, too. There was the old bastard, looking in his prime, and Robert Drake and Katheryne Pryde, and then Hank McCoy, still whole; and Ororo Munroe, who would someday become the Queen of Wakanda, and later – when Madripoor fell – would save thousands.

It was all going splendidly. It really seemed to be going in the right direction. Raze had thought that they’d get back home in time for lunch, and they’d eat in a changed world, everything as it should be, maybe even father alive. Nir chest had ached painfully.

But then, while they talked, the old bastard had gone berserk, a fight had ensued, and when the dust had settled down they’d realized that young Jean Grey had escaped with young Scott Summers, using the old bastard as a diversion.

 _This will take longer than expected_ , Charlie had said.

 _Yeah_. And they didn’t even know the half of it. Before they could go and track the damn stupid kids – Charlie said little Jean had become suspicious because he was shielding their minds from her – another telepath had shown up, putting the plan in jeopardy all over again.

Now this one – this one ne knew, sort of. It was Rachel Grey; ne hadn’t ever met her alive, but ne’d shared a jet flight with her corpse. Ne was a mess at the time, but it was difficult to forget the smells and the voices of those around nem, the cries of despair. She was part of the team that had come to rescue nem from the facility, and she’d died to cover the retreat.

Seeing her now – knowing she’d died to save nem – was difficult. Especially as she was casting doubts over them, over their identities and motives.

 _It’s not your fault she died_ , Charlie said, his mind a comforting presence.

Ne didn’t know if ne agreed. But still, maybe if they changed the past they could even save her. How good would it be to come back and find everyone alive – everyone, not just father?

Ne didn’t want to see the old bastard alive and well, though. Nir claws itched at seeing him now; so much had gone wrong because of him, because he hadn’t even bothered to check if Raven was really dead; and ne couldn’t take nir mind away from what ’Pool had said – about him killing father. It seemed absurd, so like the strange things ’Pool said sometimes, but then again, hadn’t Hank told them that father was “presumed dead” in this particular window of time?

 _I’m sure it was just Deadpool being Deadpool_ , said Charlie.

 _Yeah. Sure_. They watched as Jean projected in the X-Men’s minds her face, revealing herself. They should have done that sooner; it changed everything on the table.

Now the X-Men were listening, and cooperating. More young faces showed up – ne almost did a double take at seeing Jubilation Lee, so young and cheerful and so different from how cold and martial she was in the future.

War had hardened everyone.

 _We’ll fix everything_ , Charlie said.

 _Yeah_. Ne was sure they would. They had to.

 

* * *

 

But of course it all went so spectacularly wrong.

They tracked the kids down and they almost had them, but then Rachel Grey and Katheryne Pryde, that had been left behind at the school, showed up and came at the kids’ rescue and let them escape, leaving nem in the uncomfortable position of arguing with Pryde about her own future while pretending to be her, and damn it, ne didn’t know her well enough for that. Rachel Grey joined in, too, blabbering about choices.

Choices? None of them had a choice here. They were all damned, and they should just listen. Perhaps they’d do it if they were told what awaited them, but really, Raze couldn’t bring nemself to put those horrors to words, and ne could tell that the others felt the same.

How do you tell someone that she’s bound to get struck to death by a weapon designed just for her? How do you tell a man – even if you hate him – that he’s bound to be mauled by Apocalypse?

Ne remembered father standing frozen in front of the TV as he watched the battle against that madman unfold. He was worried sick about aunt Laura, but when he’d seen his father go against the monster, cane and all, he’d lost it. He’d yelled at him, as if he could hear him, to get back to safety, to stop being a damn fool. To let others handle it. Afterwards he’d sunk into the couch, staring almost lifelessly at the screen, his knuckles white. Maiko had sat beside him, weeping quietly. Raze hadn’t cared about the old bastard’s death, but ne’d reached out to take father’s hand, to try and comfort him a little. At the time ne was still so overwhelmed by father’s nighttime breakdowns, tired and weary, and ne’d wanted to try and do something to ease his pain.

But that was the past. This time’s future. It could still be fixed, if these damn idiots would just listen and let them help.

“I can’t find them,” said Charlie, tearing nem out from nir thoughts. _Damn it_ , ne snarled. _Damn it, damn it, damn it_ –

 _Come on. We’re going to fix everything_. Charlie was really too much optimistic sometimes.

“Then what is our next path of recourse?” Hank asked. Charlie was about to answer but he hesitated, his mind focused elsewhere.

“Xorn, do you hear that?” he asked Jean, mainly for the X-Men’s benefit. It seemed that luck was finally coming their way, as apparently the people whose skirt the kids had decided to run behind were going to help them.

 

* * *

 

A standstill again, and this was really getting rather tiring.

What was it with the damn X-Men and changing their mind, anyway?

One moment Jean was dealing with her younger self; the next moment, the very same telepath that had alerted them to the kids’ whereabouts had decided to go against her, helped by three very young but still terrifically powerful Stepford Cuckoos.

The past was overflowing with telepaths, it seemed. One had to wonder how come they’d been so decimated.

But still.

One of those very same telepaths ne was babysitting as the psychic battle unfolded. Rachel Grey’s powers were being sort-of dampened by Charlie, but even like that she was a powerful telepath, and Raze’s skin crawled at the thought of her tiring herself of playing nice and deciding to join the fray. Ne tried to talk some sense into her and Pryde, tried to impress that the future they were trying to prevent was well worth taking sides against their fellow teammates.

But ne needn’t have bothered. It seemed the X-Men of this time were terribly fragmented, a weakness the war would take care of. In the meantime, they were trying to prevent that very same war, but this still worked in their favor: it meant that at least some of them were going to help the Brotherhood.

 _How’s it going down there? I don’t get much_ , ne asked Charlie. Ne could see the two Jeans stand in front of one another, but ne had no idea how was their battle going. In the meantime, the X-Men were battling amongst themselves, and ne itched to join them, make a difference; but ne couldn’t mimic Pryde’s powers, so ne had to sit this one out.

_I think our Jean’s losing._

_What? Help her! I can’t, but at least you can!_ Nir muscles wanted to move but Raze stood still, surveying the battle below them. It was chaos, X-Man against X-Man, with the Brotherhood in the mix.

It was a terrible sight.

Knowing that in the future there were so few of them, battling fiercely against everything, and seeing such a scene now – really put things into perspective. Ne’d loathed nir X-Men’s inaction, but it stemmed from exhaustion, from having to close their ranks.

 _If I help Jean_ , said Charlie, _I expose all of us to the telepaths in the area. We have to hope she overcomes her younger self on her own._

 _You know, maybe we should come clean_. Raze bit nir lower lip. _I mean, okay, we’re the “Brotherhood”, but we’re trying to help! If we told them –_

 _You know what she and Hank said, it’s ill-advised_.

_Okay, but –_

“ _Stop!_ ” It was yelled across the battlefield, and miraculously, everyone listened.

Raze watched in a stupor as ’Pool – reliable in a fight, yes, hell, he was an awesome fighter, but damn if he wasn’t right in the head – pulled out a gut-wrenching speech without going off on a tangent once.

“For God's sake, stop trying to kill each other!” he cried out. “All this fighting, it's too much, even for me. I can't do this anymore. You wanna know how screwed up things are in the future? Open your eyes! It's so screwed up, they made me an X-Man!” Here Raze had to bit back a snort, even as tears gathered in nir eyes. “So screwed up we had no choice but to travel back through time and try to change history.” _Yeah. Tell them, ’Pool. Make them see._ “You guys... you guys don't want our future. Believe me. Some of you... really don't want our future.” ’Pool’s voice cracked. “It's not like the old days, when we were always laughing, remember? Or at least, I was always laughing.” Ne didn’t have a hard time believing that. Ne wondered how it would be like, to be always laughing. “Nobody laughs in the future. Must be all the funerals. The future sucks. And if you guys are just gonna make us go back there, then... well... then I guess I quit.” He pointed one of his guns at his own head. Raze’s heart skipped a beat. _Charlie! Stop him!_

 _Wait. I think this might convince them_ –

’Pool looked dead serious. Ne hadn’t ever seen him like that and ne didn’t doubt for a second that he was going to do it. He was really going to kill himself. _For God’s sake, Charlie, we’re not here for this!_

 _We’re here to fix everything, by any means necessary_ , said Charlie. Raze shook frantically nir head, ready to jump down there, stop ’Pool. “My healing factor ain't what it used to be,” he was saying, “So I think this might actually kill me. God, I hope so.” _Not another one_ , ne thought. _I can’t lose another one!_ Ne wondered when ’Pool, with his annoying attitude and his blunt gibberish, had become someone ne didn’t want to lose. “Bury me in chimichangas,” ’Pool said nonsensically, and then –

The young Jean Grey stopped him. Raze breathed out in relief, nir heart beating loudly. Ne didn’t know what had made her change her mind, ne didn’t care – although ne could guess it was their own Jean’s doing. All ne knew was that ne was glad the maddening man hadn’t managed to shoot himself. Ne remembered Quire’s clear gaze as he cradled father to his chest, his muttered plea to be killed; ne couldn’t even begin to understand how could one be so desperate to want to die. When father had been murdered, all ne’d felt was rage; ne hadn’t wanted to direct it upon nemself, but upon others, to make them pay.

Someone squeezed nir shoulder and ne jumped, looked around wildly. It was Katheryne Pryde, soft understanding in her gaze. It was unnerving to think that she believed she was comforting herself.

They regrouped, ready to go back to the Jean Grey School and finally be done with all of this. Ne was torn between going up to ’Pool, not knowing what to say, and just pretend ne hadn’t felt the air be sucked out of nir lungs and nir chest constrict, so ne was left to hover uncomfortably in the background as ’Pool was approached by the old bastard.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” he began with an air of superiority, and Raze _really_ wanted to fistfight him, “but thanks for speaking up back there, Wade. That was… some speech.”

“Yeah, sure. No sweat.” ’Pool seemed completely oblivious to what he’d done, to how everyone was walking on eggshells around him.

“I just hope we… can set things right for ya.” With that, the old bastard set off.

 _Yeah, we all hope that_. With a sigh, Raze closed the distance between nem and ’Pool, so ne heard distinctly what he muttered next:

“Yep, nice speech. It’s almost a shame it was all a lie.”

Raze worried nir lower lip, expecting the old irritation to come, but it didn’t. It seemed that ’Pool was back to his old absurd self, but this time ne wanted to show him some understanding. Ne’d never thought about it, but it must be so exhausting to always be shut down because of something he said that he had no control over.

“Hey.” Raze went to walk beside him. “You gave me a scare, back there.”

’Pool threw nem a glance. “Sorry, blueberry. Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s all right.” They walked in silence for a while. “Why did you just say it was a lie?” ne whispered.

“Because it is, blueberry.” ’Pool scratched his chin, expression pensive. “It is now, anyway.”

“Huh-uh.” Raze nodded sagely, not wanting to set him off. Nir gaze fixed on the old bastard’s back, a shiver run down nir spine. “What you said about him killing–”

“Who? What?” ’Pool followed nir gaze. “Ah. Didn’t want to upset you with that.” He sighed. “I know it’s difficult to believe me, sometimes. But I was there, blueberry. It was a damn mess, it was, and I remember that at the time he was really beating himself over it. I’m betting he’s doing that right now.” He nodded in the old bastard’s direction. “I think they put it behind them in the end, he was always telling me how junior dragged him to watch operas –”

Nir breath caught in nir throat. _That_ was true. That was certainly true, it had happened, and Raze recalled it. Father had begun to see quite regularly the old bastard some time after nir kidnapping, and they’d gone to the Opera too, more than once.

If that was true, then perhaps the rest was as well.

Ne tuned ’Pool out. Ne was definitely going to eviscerate the old bastard at the first occasion.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, ne was almost glad that there was yet another hiccup in their plan.

When they landed back at the school, they learned that two of the Originals were gone to the future. What they’d see there would certainly convince them to go back to their own time, but for now the Brotherhood was left with the uncomfortable situation of having to dispose of the three they’d already secured – Jean and Hank took care of that, heading to a time machine the Hank of this time had built – _and_ prepare to see their lies unmasked.

It shouldn’t matter what they called themselves in order to get the job done, but these X-Men would only see the name and wouldn’t trust them anymore; maybe they’d even try to actively oppose them.

So the only thing left to do, logically, was to take it in stride and play the villains, buying themselves some time.

Yeah, no. Ne really just wanted to gut the old bastard for what he’d done.

So ne dismissed Pryde’s aspect and turned into a male version of nemself and unsheathed nir claws and buried them deep, deep into the fucker’s torso, going for non-vitals just to honor father’s memory – and all right, to heed Hank’s instructions too, ne wasn’t completely stupid – as apparently the old bastard didn’t have a functioning healing factor. Ne cradled his head as he slid to the floor with a betrayed expression visible even behind the ridiculous mask, and ne couldn’t resist one last dig.

“The look on your face makes all of this _totally_ worth the effort, ‘dad’.” Yeah, ne went there. Ne bet that would give him nightmares on end, what with him having recently _killed_ his real son. Asshole.

 _Raze, what the fuck?_ Charlie hadn’t even seen it coming, too busy covering their minds.

 _Time to stop playing around!_ Ne snarled, giving him a rundown of what ne’d been thinking. Ne swirled fast, going for the umpteenth telepath, Betsy Braddock.

They had to change their plan after nir little stunt. And fast. Cursing, Charlie brought up to speed the others, telling Jean to subdue the X-Men that were with her, and they all split up after that.

It was, yet again, chaos. Ne moved swiftly, jumping left and right, slashing madly but never quite managing to land a hit. Ne guessed they were all used to fight someone with claws – they’d reacted immediately and effectively when young Jean Grey had controlled the old bastard, after all – but ne could always get really creative, throw the shapeshifting into the mix. ’Pool joined nem, and Charlie subdued Rachel Grey with Molly’s help and then went outside, going for some sort of consciousness that lay in wait – it turned out to be a living lawn.

Chaos. Nothing more than chaos. Aunt Rogue was there too and tried to take on Bobby only to stop, dumbfounded, when she sensed that he had no mind of his own. She even said it out loud and he punched her, flinging her at the opposite wall; then he stumbled outside with a loud bellow, leaving them on their own. Maybe he’d felt a spark of something, of what he wasn’t anymore. Ne felt remorse for always thinking of him as a big lump of nothing.

But ne hadn’t the time to entertain such thoughts. The young Lee had joined her teammates, and really, they didn’t want to battle her, but they had to. ’Pool turned on her, leaving nem alone with Braddock. Molly was landing punches on aunt Rogue and she took them all without a flinch.

They were fucking outnumbered, ne realized. They were just buying time. Soon someone else from the school would notice what was happening and come to help the X-Men – but then Hank, who was in the lab with Jean, managed to get the school in lockdown, trapping all the other X-Men and the students in various rooms.

They only had to deal with those in the hangar. They could do this.

They split up more. ’Pool brought outside the fight with young Lee, and Molly finally managed to knock down aunt Rogue. That only left Braddock, and nem and Molly gave it everything they had. She fought fiercely, giving off blazes of telekinetic energy, but soon she went down, although she managed to give off a blast of energy that made the roof collapse on them.

Both ne and Molly tried to shield each other, forgetting none of them needed help. Molly held debris on her shoulders and Raze had wrapped nemself around her, ready to take the worst of the fall.

 _Jesus_. Charlie spoke in their minds, linking them all together. _Everything all right?_

 _Yeah_. Ne let go of Molly and looked around. The X-Men were all safe – taken out but safe, protected by a sort of shield Braddock was producing, even unconscious. _Fuck, she went for the killing blow_. The realization made nir blood run cold. _There’s no way we could have survived that_ –

 _We’ve given them reason to fight us_. There was a note of reproach in Charlie’s voice. Raze winced. _Jean, Hank_ , Charlie continued. _How’s things on your end?_

 _They’re going swimmingly._ Hank exuded satisfaction. Then he hesitated. _We’ve got company._

 _Yeah, I see them_. Charlie seemed to be trying to reach someone. _’Pool? You’re the closest one. ’Pool?_

Silence. Raze pushed nemself up, dread filling nir veins. _’Pool, buddy?_

 _Little busy at the moment!_ It was like static. Charlie was right when he said that ’Pool’s mind was a mess.

 _What’s happening?_ Ne wrenched them both free from the debris. _I’m coming, ’Pool!_

 _Don’t worry about me, blueberry!_ The voice was so falsely cheerful. _Just go and take Hank Jr and Bobby Jr – not our Bobby – you know what I mean!_

 _The X-Men from the island just arrived_ , Charlie explained. _They’ve got the other two with them._

 _And someone else_ , Hank added. _It seems our own X-Men followed._

 _What?_ It made no sense. They were stuck battling against the world; how could they find the time to drop everything and come back to the past?

 _There’s no time for pondering anything. Go take the kids, Raze_. This was Jean, searing her words in nir brain. Ne moved automatically, taking on Braddock’s aspect and crawling towards the outside. Molly took a different direction; she was going to try and join ’Pool. Ne wanted to help too– it seemed ne was struggling, whoever he was battling – but Jean was right. They had no time; they had to send the Original Five home before it really got ugly.

Outside ne found Lee, barely a scratch on her, lost in a reunion with her son from the future, all grown up. Shogo didn’t spare nem a glance, too occupied doting on his mom, so he didn’t recognize nem. But Lee rushed to nir side, as ne’d faked some injuries, and they decided to bring nem to the others. Lee wrapped an arm around nir waist to help nem walk and ne eased into the role.

The first thing ne noticed when ne set eyes on the X-Men from nir time – the thing that put nem on high alert, all nir nerves tingling – was fucking Quentin Quire among them, all cleaned up and sporting no sign of the grief he’d saddled himself with for years. Not to mention totally seemingly sane, and the others didn’t appear to be wary around him.

Then there was the fact that he was sprouting nonsense about the Brotherhood, saying how dangerous they were, and no one contradicted him.

 _What the fuck_. Ne had to hold onto Lee, not for show. _Are you seeing this?_

The others were as speechless as nem. Yes. The X-Men from their future – who had always fought half-heartedly against them – were telling the X-Men of this time that ne and the others were super-criminals, their intent in coming here probably nefarious.

 _Why would they lie?_ Unless they weren’t. Unless they believed what they were saying. Unless –

 _It worked_ , Jean said simply.

Raze’s heart skipped a beat. It seemed impossible – amazing, but impossible. Of course, ne’d been sure they’d succeed, ne’d had to feel confident, but seeing it happen in front of nir eyes was another thing entirely. These were most definitely _not_ the X-Men they’d left behind, and it showed. They moved with ease, there was no pain on their faces. They hadn’t lived through the horrors the Brotherhood remembered.

 _We haven’t changed anything yet_ , Jean said, _but evidently we will, and that’s the outcome._

 _That’s fantastic!_ Raze thought, nir gaze fixed on Quire. If he didn’t look heartbroken, then perhaps father was alive too. He could be alive…

But Jean wasn’t as enthusiastic. _We haven’t done anything yet_ , she repeated. _And they think we’re criminals. They’ll try to stop us. And if they do_ –

 _If they do, it will all change back again_ , Charlie finished her thought. _Raze, you need to bring the kids here._

 _On it._ There was nothing that could stop nem, nothing. Now that ne saw the tangible proof that they’d succeed, ne was prepared to battle everyone just to capture the kids.

But fortunately there was no need. Ne’d looked injured, and so they were letting nem rest – leaving nem at the edge of the forest while they planned an attack, leaving the kids unchecked. The little Hank was even at nir side, checking nir false injuries, so it was easy to call on little Bobby too, under the pretense of making sure they were both all right.

Ne put them both to sleep with two well-placed hits on pressure points and managed to drag them the hell out of there.

On the way to the school ne bumped into nir Bobby. The giant piece of ice was huddled under a tree and let out a cry when he saw nem.

“Hey, big guy,” ne murmured. God, why had they dragged him into this? Couldn’t they have left him alone in Antartica, not a care in the world, unaware of what had been done to him?

Because now he was standing up, coming towards nem. Raze stood still, knowing time was of the essence but sensing this was important and ne should let it play out. Bobby reached nem and lowered a massive hand to brush little Bobby’s face – perhaps recognizing himself.

“I’m sorry.” Raze felt a lump in nir throat. Bobby just let out one of his grunts.

 _Raze_ , Charlie said in nir mind. _You need to hurry_.

 _Yeah, coming_. Ne resumed nir march. Bobby remained in the clearing, big head lowered. _How are ’Pool and Molly?_ Raze asked, trying to get that sight out of nir mind.

 _They’re fighting with Illyana_ , Jean said.

_Who?_

_Maybe one day I’ll tell you about her. Suffice it to say that she’s dangerous. Hurry._

Ne had a nagging feeling, in that exact moment, that none of them would come out of this unscathed. But for now ne’d reached the school, and ne had to get inside, finish what they’d started. Ne navigated the corridors – it wasn’t too different from nir own time, and Jean guided nem – and reached the lab in no time.

As ne walked through the doors, one kid on each shoulder, Charlie spoke up. _’Pool’s down._

 _What?_ Ne stood frozen, unable to take another step. _What do you mean, down?_

Stupid question, stupid question. Shouldn’t ne stop asking stupid questions?

Down meant dead. ’Pool was dead. Ne had to focus on the mission. The mission.

A step, then another. Another. Ne could do this. Jean swam in front of nem, her image unfocused, strange. She took the kids from nem just as ne fell to nir knees and levitated them to a strange white cube.

 _Raze_ , Charlie said. _Breathe, please._ He seemed strained. What was happening?

 _Come on, kid, breathe_ , Jean added. She was caressing her younger self’s hair. Ne tried to focus on such little details, forcing the muscles in nir throat to move. The air had to get in and then out. In and then out.

“What’s wrong with the boy?” This was one of the other X-Men, those they’d incapacitated. It seemed a woman’s voice. Munroe, maybe? Good to know that she could be worried about how fared an intruder in her home.

Nobody answered her.

“You can do it, child.” Hank was bent down on a console, wasn’t even facing nem, but his low rumble was soothing.

Charlie was in pain, though. Ne felt it now that ne was breathing a little, that ne wasn’t too focused on nir own shock. It came like waves, needles in his spine. He was having trouble breathing himself. _Charlie? Charlie!_ Ne gasped, grasping wildly at nir own arms. _Charlie, answer me_ –

 _I’ve got him_ , came Molly’s voice, loud, agitated. _I’ve got him, I’ve got him_. _We’re retreating, get on with it!_

 _On it_ , Hank said. Raze let out a wail.

 _What happened?_ ne asked frantically.

 _It was that one, Illyana_ , Molly said. _We’re fine! Just do it!_

There was a crash, and the world got even madder. With a swirl of blond hair and a giant sword just like the one Colossus bore in the future, a fury came into the lab, going straight for Hank. With a scream Jean turned on her heels and stopped her midair. “You fucking murderer!” she snarled, and Raze had never seen her so angry, not even on Election Day. She exuded a terrifying aura, the air crackling around her.

She flung the newcomer at the wall. The bound X-Men cried out, and the name _Illyana_ was clearly audible. Raze saw red. The woman was the one that had killed ’Pool, and done something to Charlie.

She tried to get up, but Jean held her in place. Swaying, Raze got to nir feet. Ne was going to make her pay. For ’Pool. For Charlie.

“Did any of us fucking kill anybody?” Jean was shouting, her voice ringing clearly in the lab. _Hank, do it!,_ she ordered. “No!” she continued, “We only wounded! But you had to kill, didn’t you, Darkchylde? You only bring _death_!” She slammed the blonde woman against the wall, again and again. The woman let out a pitiful whine; her teammates were struggling against their bonds, begging Jean to stop, appealing to the ties between them all. All of them were X-Men, Jean had been too, surely she couldn’t just kill someone she had worked alongside with for years?, they cried.

They were right.

“Jean.” Ne unsheathed nir claws. “Hold her steady while I gut her.” Fuck any consequence, fuck the fact they _weren’t_ supposed to kill. She needed to pay.

With a start Jean turned in nir direction, as a flicker of alarm and worry came through the link ne shared with Charlie. _Don’t worry, Charlie_ , ne thought back. His thoughts were feverish, sluggish. He was in so much pain and Raze seethed, wanted to draw blood.

“I’ve got this, Raze,” Jean said gently.

“She hurt Charlie,” ne growled, taking a step towards them. “She _killed_ ’Pool!” Ne heard Munroe gasp.

“Yes. I’ve got this.” Jean turned to the woman again. “Kill yourself, Illyana,” she ordered, her psychic suggestion so strong it made the walls rattle. The woman brought the sword to her throat. “Here’s a spoiler: you’re going to do this eventually,” Jean added viciously.

Her teammates cried out, Katheryne Pryde the loudest of all. It seemed so wrong, but it also felt right. Hell, they’d played nice. They’d done everything they could to avoid casualties, ne’d even stopped nemself from really hurting the old bastard. And they were repaid with this?

Ne wanted to see her entrails. Ne wanted to see her pay. Ne wanted to hear her beg, listen to her dying breath. Ne wanted to do much more than just give her a clean death, but ne’d have to make do with this. Ne watched, transfixed and eager and furious, as the woman moved her arm to slit her own throat –

But then the floor moved as if an earthquake had hit them. Raze didn’t manage to keep nir balance and when the tremors stopped and ne turned to watch again, the woman was gone. Ne couldn’t smell her anymore; she’d run away. Jean let out a snarl of frustration and rage but already she was stalking towards Hank. Raze stood, nir eyes fixed on the spot where that bastard woman had been, thinking ne should have just stabbed her without telling Jean.

“Child? Raze, is it?” Monroe spoke gently from her corner. Her teammates gave her sideways glances. “Are you all right?”

Ne stared at her. Yeah, ne knew her to be nurturing, but also a formidable leader, and ne was the enemy.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she continued with a soft voice. Her posture was relaxed, her shoulders open. Her eyes were very kind too, but for a moment they were also very much alert. _Oh, Oh, I see_. Intrigued, ne decided to let her speak. A glance at Jean and Hank told nem they were busy talking; the kids were still on the strange cube. Ne got closer to the bound X-Men.

“Thank you,” ne murmured.

“What happened – what Illyana did – wasn’t right,” Munroe said, “It could have been avoided. All this pain, this senseless violence –”

“Yeah, I agree.” Ne hunched nir shoulders as if to hide from nir teammates’ view, but ne was irritated already. Ne’d expected better. “We didn’t want to have to do this, but we must. We’re doing it for you too,” ne nodded at her, at the other bound X-Men, “Even if you don’t see it yet – won’t see it, hopefully. We’re doing it for everyone.”

Munroe nodded in understanding, her gaze so very clear and kind. “You can see how I’m worried – we’re worried – about the children.”

“The children are fine.” Raze stopped short of rolling nir eyes. As if they’d hurt the students. “Once we’re done we’ll go and you can see for yourself.”

“You can also see how it’s difficult to believe you – as you attacked us.”

“Yeah?” Oh, ne was so done with this. Ne leaned down so that she’d hear nem clearly. “Just remember we didn’t start the killing. _You_ did.”

Pryde spoke up. “Are you threatening the kids?”

“Are you even listening?” ne huffed. “We’re doing this for you. We’re trying to spare you a lot of pain.”

“I understand.” Munroe nodded again, still up with her charade. “We can talk about this. We can discuss –”

“Honestly – I’m not nearly as stupid as you seem to think I am,” ne said louder so that the others would hear as ne straightened up. Munroe’s eyes gave a flash. “Look, I respect what you’re trying to do here. Talking to me, showing sympathy, trying to convince me to free you. I respect you a lot, bright lady, you’re going to do great things. But I’m not freeing you.” Ne shrugged. “Don’t insult me by thinking I’m more malleable just because I’m the youngest and I showed weakness.”

Munroe shook her head. “Child, there’s no shame in mourning a fallen friend. If that’s what they told you –”

Raze sighed. Ne’d expected so much better. “I _know_ that, lady. Quit it, will you? You have no right to talk about ’Pool.” Ne turned nir back on her. “Hey, what’s taking so long?” Ne called across the lab. Munroe tried to speak again but was shushed by her teammates.

Jean beckoned nem to get closer. _We can’t send them back._

 _What?_ Ne reached them in a few jumps, throwing a glance at the Original Five as ne went. They were still deeply under. _What the fuck does that mean? They have to go back!_

 _The time machine rejects them_ , Hank said.

_How’s that even possible?_

_I have no idea_. Hank’s gaze was fixed on the kids. _Maybe they’ve been here for so long already that it created a paradox, and the laws of space and time no longer apply_ –

Ne didn’t care about stupid theories. They’d come here, sacrificed so much, ’Pool had died, Charlie was wounded – and it had to have happened for something. The mirage ne’d witnessed when ne’d seen the X-Men from nir time outside the school – they still had to make that happen. They had to fix everything. _Maybe the time machine’s just broken? Can’t you fix it?_

 _It may be, but I don’t have the time to make sure, let alone fix anything_. With a glance at the monitors, Hank told them that the defenses he’d set in place were being breached.

 _They won’t believe us because to them, we’re criminals_ , said Jean. _They’ll overwhelm us and stop us. They won’t even listen. And they’ll go away from here, patting themselves in the back, only to find themselves in the future we came from. It will all be for nothing._ She clenched her fists.

Ne couldn’t believe it. _Come on, there has to be something! How do we solve this? How do we save the glimpse of bright future we saw?_

When Jean and Hank didn’t answer, ne looked from one to the other in shock. They had to know what to do now. There had to be a way!

Jean brought a hand to her head. It seemed it costed her terribly when she said, quietly: “We can try making them see.”

 

* * *

 

They took the kids and fled the school.

Molly had managed to steal a jet and waited for them in a clearing. She’d even retrieved Bobby, but Raze stopped paying attention to everything when ne landed eyes on Charlie, there on a makeshift bed formed by four seats; ne dropped in the cargo area the kid ne was holding and then rushed over to him.

He lay on his side, features crumbled in pain, eyes shut tightly. From this close, their mental link was stronger; before ne’d only felt a humming, a buzz, a far-away muffled sound that told nem Charlie was still in pain; now it was all louder, more chaotic and frantic. Ne caught Charlie’s hand, hoping it would register that ne was there, and Charlie whimpered, squeezing it hard. It hurt a bit, but it didn’t matter; at least it meant Charlie was alert.

 _Hey_ , ne tried, _I’m here. It’s all going to be all right_. Ne risked a glance to his back. Molly had undressed him, leaving him in his underwear; there was a bloody gash in his lower back – it had already been cauterized.

 _I can’t feel my legs_. Charlie was crying quietly. _I can’t feel them, I can’t feel them_ –

 _It’s going to be all right_ , ne repeated. Ne didn’t even know if ne believed it anymore, but Charlie had to hear it. He’d always done his best to comfort nem and now it was nir turn to be strong for him. It made nem think of Maiko; ne hoped she was fine. She wouldn’t be, if they didn’t succeed.

Ne kept reassuring Charlie, but ne started to slowly focus on their surroundings. They’d taken off, and Jean was explaining the plan she’d concocted in the lab.

They couldn’t send the kids back, she said, but they could at least make everyone see the danger they were already in from the world. Young Jean, she explained, knew already that the Original Five were directly linked to the coming spark of mutantophobia that would only ignite what was already there, and so she’d do the math. Jean hoped that her young counterpart would then devote herself to bring herself and her friends back where they belonged.

It was a half-backed plan, but it was all they had.

So they were going to attack a military base to attract the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D., and make it so that said bastards would retaliate with the weapons that, Hank said, most assuredly already existed at this point in time. The X-Men would see this, and even if they didn’t believe the Brotherhood, hopefully they would still pay attention.

Charlie stirred. Understanding what he was trying to do, ne moved to help him sit up. Charlie leaned heavily on nem, beads of sweat rolling off his face, that was ashen with pain. “That’s – ngh _hhh_ – going to need all of us.”

“No!” Raze held him firmly. “You’re going to stay here, Charlie. We’ll be fine.”

Charlie didn’t look at nem. “I’m coming.” _I need to. You know that._

_I won’t lose you too!_

_Raze_. Charlie enveloped nem in a soft cocoon – or rather, he tried to. Now that he was so weakened, ne could see it for what it was. Not just a way to calm nem down; a way to keep nem compliant, too.

A layer of ice formed around nir heart. _How long have you been doing that?_

Charlie grimaced. _It’s not –_

 _It’s just your way to try to help me_. Raze nodded. _I know._ Ne knew that, damn it. That was the worst part; ne did. Ne knew that ne’d been a right mess for months, and self-destructive, too. But influencing nir decisions – _How long have you been doing that?_

 _I –_ It didn’t matter. There was no need to say it; months, maybe a whole year. Ever since the animal’s death, maybe. Ne had faint memories; moments that didn’t add up, decisions ne wasn’t sure ne’d ever have agreed to.

Like leaving Maiko behind, just to save nemself.

Ne’d known ne was being kind of drugged. Ne’d wanted it. Ne just hadn’t thought that Charlie would slip suggestions in nir mind.

_Don’t do that ever again._

_I won’t_. The soft cocoon disappeared. It left a hole in its wake, a sort of numb pain, red and hard. _I’m still coming._

“I still don’t want to lose you, you idiot!” ne snapped. It occurred to nem that they’d been silent for a while, but the others weren’t saying anything. It was Charlie’s decision; no one would be forced to go on the field. They all risked to die now, and they knew it. The fight had changed and the loss of ’Pool had only cemented it.

Charlie squeezed nir hand. “I know. I’m still coming.”

“Oh, damn you!” With a snarl ne jumped to nir feet, letting go of him.

Then ne pushed him out of the seat.

Knowing that he didn’t feel his legs, that he’d lose his balance and fall; hoping that he’d realize he couldn’t get out there on his own. Ne felt so cold and vicious for doing that, a right bastard, but ne must. Charlie had to understand he risked everything.

But Charlie only stumbled a bit, and then sat on nothing. A golden form appeared behind him, under him, enveloping him so that he’d sit comfortably.

A wheelchair. A psychic construct that permitted him to move around without anyone’s help.

Never looking at nem once, he slid closer to the others as Raze took a step back, too stunned to speak, too deeply ashamed, too afraid for him. “Where are we going, then?”

Hank was staring ahead, exuding uneasiness. Molly looked horrified at what had transpired between them. Bobby, as always, let out a grunt.

Jean merely tilted her head. “Cape Citadel.”

 

* * *

 

It was a damn disaster, a bloodied massacre.

They were hopelessly outnumbered and the X-Men – the whole cavalry – fought with everything they had, holding back nothing. Some of them – Munroe among them – tried to reason, but their teammates who felt otherwise were simply too much, and too set on stopping the Brotherhood.

But it wasn’t the X-Men of this time that they had to worry about, even if seeing ’Pool’s murderer face Charlie was still upsetting.

It was their own X-Men, coming from a future that they hoped to preserve. X-Men that hated them, and battled them like they were monsters.

It was strange to face Iceman and see no pity in his eyes, but only contempt; strange to see Lee cut her way through them all with a snarl on her face. Strange to see Quire fight alongside his teammates as if he hadn’t been missing for months, and go against Jean like he didn’t feel ashamed anymore for giving her that helmet in the first place.

It was a small mercy that aunt Laura wasn’t here; ne wondered what could have happened if she were, if she’d have decided to fight nem. It was difficult enough to go against these people ne knew and ne’d even worked alongside with for months, when they were trying to save father.

It was a disaster and they were outnumbered and when S.H.I.E.L.D. came it didn’t get easier, but worse. Jean managed to override whatever pathetic excuse for a telepathy blocker existed in this time and made S.H.I.E.L.D. launch on them all a large variety of anti-mutant weapons – and the fight became frantic.

Now the X-Men saw what they were trying to warn them about, but they still fought _them_. Well, they fought the terrifying giant robots too, but they also fought the Brotherhood, like idiots.

Lee went after nem then, as ne attempted to side-step a so-called Sentinel while keeping an eye on nir traitorous brother, that was still fighting ’Pool’s murderer. Lee came after nem and ne fought back – ne had to fight back – gritting nir teeth and telling nemself this was for the future. It didn’t matter if they were criminals in the new future; it only mattered that there was so much peace that mutants could even decide to go and commit crimes. Ne wondered if ne would remember nir old life once ne came back – if ne managed to come back; ne hoped ne wouldn’t. Wouldn’t it be better to have no memory of father’s death?

God, ne hoped father was alive.

Ne had to fight Lee, but that didn’t mean ne had to put too much heart in it. She was dead serious though, and soon they were exchanging real blows. Ne was debating where to hit her to put her to sleep for a while when it happened.

They were still amongst Sentinels. Honestly, ne hadn’t forgotten, but it was hard to focus on that as ne faced a murderous vampire. They were still amongst Sentinels, and when ne felt the heat coming from above, ne just jumped away. Simple instincts.

But Lee didn’t. She was hit and fell to the ground, just like that. Struck dead, like nothing.

After that – after that it went all kind of fuzzy. Something attacked nir mind, burning white, and Charlie’s shields didn’t hold, cracking against enormous pressure. Ne was left stranded, surrounded by flames, and prepared nemself to be burned to a crisp. But then – then it all went away.

Something terribly kind touched nir mind, and ne felt tears gather in nir eyes.

 _I’m sorry. You were out of time_. The whisper came from all directions, a thousand voices; and then it all went black.

 

* * *

 

When ne came to, there was no fight anymore.

Ne wasn’t even in Cape Citadel, or at least, ne thought so. Ne was on a bed, in a dark room. Ne smelled Charlie, and Molly.

Just them.

Ne sat up. Charlie’s wheelchair glowed in the darkness, illuminating his somber face; Molly was seated in a chair to nir right. Nir head swam; ne brought a hand to it. Ne felt as if ne’d been hit by a bomb.

“No bombs.” Charlie spoke up – more for Molly’s benefit than nir, even if maybe he was sparing nem a headache. Just hearing him speak was hard enough, nir ears ringing, and ne whimpered. “Just a psychic attack. You fainted.”

“Okay –” Even speaking kind of hurt. “What happened?” Ne looked around, cradling nir head. “Where are Jean, and Hank, and –” Ne knew perfectly well the answer, didn’t ne? Captured, or worse.

“Dead.” Molly confirmed nir worst fears. “They’re all dead.”

Oh, God. “How – how –”

“We managed to leave as Jean died. Exploded, to be more precise. She made herself lose control of her powers, to make a great enough spectacle to cover our retreat.” Charlie’s words were clipped and measured, clinical, but ne still shared a link with him and ne felt his grief, dumbed down by the same cocoon he had used on nem.

It was the worst kind of self-medication. But at least he could rid himself of the pain. Not like nem, lost without that protection, feeling it all come at nem with the force of a hurricane.

Dead. They were dead. ’Pool and Jean and Hank and Bobby, all dead. Dead –

With a wail Raze curled up. Ne could hear Molly speaking in hushed tones, trying to comfort nem, but what good were words? Ne knew what ne needed, but Charlie didn’t offer, and ne didn’t ask. Ne had to do this the hard way, coming back on nir own.

Breathe. In and out, in and out; it took aeons, but ne reached a moment when ne felt ne could at least still speak, struggling against the cacophony. “Did – did it work? Did we make it, you think?”

Charlie’s face was answer enough. They hadn’t, had they? It had all been for nothing. All those deaths, and nothing had changed. Ne tried to imagine the X-Men going back to the future only to find it as the Brotherhood had left it, and oh, it hurt so much.

“Jean told me we didn’t,” Charlie said, “Just as she died. She said she remembered everything that happened today, up until her death. That she remembered it before we even came here.” Without the cocoon, Charlie’s features would be contorted by grief; but he was calm now, collected, self-controlled. _Oh, Charlie, what are you doing to yourself?_ “Hank, too,” Charlie continued. If he heard nir thought – and he surely had – he gave no sign of it. “They’d lived through this already, Raze. They remembered being kidnapped by us. They knew trying to send themselves to the past wouldn’t work. They went through with it anyway, following step by step the events they remembered, sometimes steering us that way, to give _us_ a chance to change the future for real. They remembered that we three,” he glanced at Molly, “disappeared from Cape Citadel after Jean’s death.”

Ne almost couldn’t breathe. It was too terrible, too monumental. A sacrifice of such magnitude –

“What –” Ne felt tears wet nir cheeks and dried them with nir hand. “What are we going to do then?”

“They gave us the key already, Raze,” Molly said. “Apocalypse, and Phoenix.” Something nagged at the back of nir mind, but it was gone before ne could catch it. Nir head hurt so much –

“We need to steer their paths,” Charlie was saying. “Show them what’s going to happen.”

“But how? We’re on our own, and the X-Men – they’ll be on the lookout for us now!”

“Yes,” Charlie nodded. A flicker of something made it through the mask, and his eyes flashed with hate. “I’m afraid we’ll need help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : Finding Raven wouldn’t be easy, that was for sure.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raze and Charles go for Plan B.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update again, because why not, right? :D **If you check occasionally on this story and you’re tuning in just now, be aware that you could be missing chapters. I suggest going back and taking a look**.
> 
> So – we’re almost coming full circle. This chapter deals with the “behind the scenes” of the attack on the Jean Grey School depicted in _I’ll come back to haunt you if I drown_. I hope you enjoy!

41.

“Cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together:  
Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow.  
Cause it's burning through the bloodline,  
It's cutting down the family tree –  
Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me.”

Florence + the Machine – _Landscape_

 

 

The help turned out to be Raven.

“Are you out of your mind?” ne told Charlie. It wasn’t that unlikely, given what he was doing to himself. Ne had no intention to seek her out, let alone crawl to her to beg for help, and he should feel the same. He _would_ have felt the same, had he allowed himself to feel anything.

And there was the fact that ne _knew_ ne had done so – would do so – already. Damn, time travel gave headaches, and ne still was suffering from the one ne got when ne’d woken up.

But still, if the Raven from nir time remembered being approached by nem, and they were trying to change the future, shouldn’t they get started by avoiding those things they knew for sure had happened? They didn’t have much to choose from. They hadn’t lived through these times, and while Molly had, she had no idea of what had happened among the X-Men during these years. They had no way of knowing if anything they did changed something. But this, at least, they knew: Raven remembered being approached by Raze.

“That may be true,” Charlie said. “But as you said, we’re alone and tragically outnumbered. We do need allies. We’ll never manage to get near the school without any.”

“Let’s find someone else then! Molly, any ideas?”

She shook her head. There were her friends, maybe, but they’d never help her kidnap kids. Hell, her younger self would probably set out to stop her, even if she was a midget. She knew of criminals of this time, yes, but she had no way to gauge their morality. She didn’t know if they’d go along with the Brotherhood, or if they’d use them to get back at the X-Men for something or the other, doing even more damage.

The problem was that, with Raven, at least they knew what to expect, more or less. They could play on Raze and Charlie being her children, make her feel obligated to help.

“I don’t like it either, Raze,” Charlie said, “But it’s really our best bet.”

Raven would have resources, it was true. Maybe she even had a Brotherhood of her own at this point in time; aunt Rogue hadn’t been super clear on the specifics. She’d said that, throughout the years, there had been different versions of the group.

The thought of going to her, ask her for help, made nir blood boil. The thought of molding the future as they remembered it put a bitter taste in nir mouth. Telling Raven about any of this would lead her to be so obsessed with changing the future that she’d abandoned nem without a second thought. But Charlie was right, they needed help. And maybe, to change things, it would suffice going to her together, all three of them.

Plus, the thought of using her as she’d thought to use nem when ne was born – that had a nice ring to it. Ne needed an outlet after the others’ deaths. Ne should take small pleasures where ne could.

All in all, between this attitude of nirs and Charlie’s self-imposed mental barrier, Molly was the one that was coping better with their losses. Perhaps it was because she was older.

Perhaps she was just a saner, more balanced person.

 

* * *

 

Finding Raven wouldn’t be easy, that was for sure.

Ne suspected where she could be – ne knew she’d taken Madripoor around this time, when she was pregnant with nem – but to get there they had to clean up first.

And find aliases; they discovered there was some sort of control system before boarding the boats that led there. It was all very covert, but ne had hypersenses, and Charlie was a telepath. Tourists were checked – and probably spied upon until they left. People who expressed their desire to stay on the island underwent a thorough background check.

Not to mention that the X-Men must be looking for them.

They cooked up three shiny new identities and decided to get on the island separately, just for good measure. Raze would go first, then Charlie, then Molly.

Nir background held.

Ne found a house by the docks and set it up while ne waited for the others. The first night was the worst; ne hadn’t spent one alone in ages, and now ne found nemself stranded. Ne lay awake, staring at the ceiling, at the lights coming from the street. It reminded nem – a bit – of nir childhood on this very island, and ne hated it. Ne hated it that ne’d soon see Raven, that ne’d have to hide nir hate and work with her. Ne knew ne had to, and ne looked forward to using her, but at the same time ne thought that being close to her would drive nem mad.

The second night wasn’t better. Ne dozed off, exhausted, only to find nemself in a vivid nightmare. Ne saw ’Pool and Jean and Hank and Bobby. They were covered in blood, and they were moving their lips, but ne couldn’t hear what they said. Ne screamed at them to speak louder, but they only smiled sadly. Then Charlie appeared beside nem and fell in a pool of his own blood, stabbed by a giant sword. Ne unsheathed nir claws, slashing madly in the darkness, and when ne found a target, when ne felt them tear through flesh and organs, ne saw ne’d just stabbed Raven. She laughed, throwing her head back, and walked backwards, the claws sliding out of her, red and wet, unconcerned with the blood gushing out of her wounds. _Eike_ , she enunciated clearly, _a sharp blade to do great things._

_Fuck you_ , ne snarled, _fuck you!_

_We’ll change everything now_ , she said. _You told me I'd die because of you but don't you see it?_ _You'll come to the past knowing this, and you will tell me what happens, the things I need to change, and I'll change the future –_

There were so many things ne wanted to change, but not her death. She deserved to die for what she’d done. Ne didn’t want to grow up with her; ne had a feeling that ne’d become cold and calculating like her.

She laughed, again. _Silly, silly boy. You need to make up your mind. Change the future or not? There’s no middle ground, it’s all or nothing, Schlingel, my dear._

_My name_ , ne snarled, _is Raze. Not Eike, certainly not Schlingel, and I’m no boy!_ Ne stabbed her then, fast and vicious, and she gasped, blood gushing out of her mouth.

Ne woke up with a start, gasping for breath. Ne was covered in sweat, and nir claws were out.

Ne wasn’t alone.

Ne turned with a snarl, poised to strike, but it was just Charlie, seated on his golden wheelchair. Outside, the sun shone bright.

They stared at each other. This was the first time they found themselves alone in ages. It seemed none of them would speak or break eye contact first, but then Charlie nodded. “I knew you’d wake up on your own.”

“Yeah.” Ne got up abruptly, went to make tea. “You want some?”

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

They spent the two days before Molly’s arrival like that.

Polite requests, small talk. Charlie set up a mainframe, so he wouldn’t have to speak much anyway. Raze watched him work, and sometimes ne joined him. Ne was acquainting nemself with the old machines; ne wasn’t at Charlie’s level yet, but ne was good enough to work with them.

They hacked Madripoor’s surveillance system, looking for Raven, but there was no trace of her. If she was on the island, she wasn’t wearing her own face. Raze camouflaged nemself and went on the streets to investigate; ne found out that there was a mutant uprising, a sort of crime ring getting started. Ne thought it was the beginning of Raven’s empire, and Charlie agreed.

Ne set out to find her. Ne’d have to rely on nir nose, and nothing else. Ne’d have to scout the island, knowing she could very well be on a different area altogether every time, but ne thought ne’d start by finding the ring’s headquarters. Ne had vague memories of some of the members, so it shouldn’t be difficult.

But they were impossible to find, of course. Madripoor’s best kept open secret; Molly arrived and still ne hadn’t found anything.

She took the other room, perhaps thinking that if she left the siblings alone they’d salvage their relationship somehow. They let her think that; now wasn’t the time to do any mending, anyway. It was enough that they were civil, and they still cared deeply about each other.

Charlie dug up some more. He had to be extra-careful, because they didn’t want to capture Raven’s attention before they were ready; they wanted to approach her on their own terms.

Then, one day, after weeks of dead ends, Charlie found a building that seemed to match and Raze set out for it as night fell. Ne kept to the rooftops, moving slowly and carefully, and when ne reached it ne circled it, coming closer every time.

Ne was a block away when ne smelled it. Faint, yes, and ne hadn’t had many chances to memorize it; but it was burned in nir memory all the same. It marked nem and burned nir nostrils, like kerosene. Ne swayed on the rooftop, almost lost control of nir powers and turned back into nemself right there.

_Breathe, Raze_. Charlie’s voice.

_Get out of my mind!_ Ne kept nemself from snarling out loud. The animal would surely hear nem.

_I’m not doing anything_ , Charlie said _, but you need to calm down and get back here. Breathe slowly. In, out, in, out –_

Somehow, ne managed to. Ne knew what ne’d do if ne ever saw the animal again, but one thing was knowing that and one thing was smelling his scent. Ne’d forgotten he worked with Raven, he was her fuck buddy; ne hadn’t wanted to think that he could very well be on the island too.

Ne was breathing better now; but instead of turning away and leave, ne got closer to the edge. Charlie hissed in nir mind, telling nem to get out of there; but ne still had to gain intel. Ne didn’t emit any scent and ne moved quietly; nobody would notice nem.

Ne saw them. They were coming out of the building; the animal looked in his prime, far more similar to what he’d looked like when he’d raped nem than when ne’d killed him. Raze balled nir fists and kept breathing.

Raven wore the face of a young Alison Blaire. It was incongruous, and she didn’t deserve to wear that face, the face of mutant hope and sacrifice; but at least ne knew she was there.

They were laughing; ne didn’t think they had noticed nem. She swatted his arm playfully and got into a car. The animal watched her go, then went back to the building.

Ne turned on nir heels and returned to the house.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Charlie said, “Victor Creed.”

Ne nodded. Ne sat on the bed, nir arms around nir legs. Ne was shivering.

Molly’s gaze went from nem to Charlie and then back. She didn’t know what had transpired with the animal, but she could surely guess it wasn’t pleasant.

Charlie linked his fingers in his lap. “You know we can’t kill him. Hank said no killing. The consequences –”

Ne nodded. “Yeah. I’m not stupid.” Not to mention that he was Raven’s ally. Killing him would make her trust them less; ne could tell her what he’d do to nem, maybe, but it required a level of trust ne wasn’t comfortable with.

Killing him would mean saving nemself. Ne wasn’t even allowed that. Ne could only hope that any change they brought took care of that.

They couldn’t kill him. They could – God, nir teeth were on edge – they might even need him.

“Okay,” Molly said slowly. “What’s the plan?”

Charlie glanced at the computer screens. Now that they knew Raven’s face they could monitor her, and she was still on the island. But she could leave the next day, for all they knew.

“We should go now,” ne said. “Before she goes off God knows where.” Ne stared at the screens too. _Before she reunites with the animal and I’m forced to face him too_. _If I see him again tonight, I’m going to kill him, and damn the consequences._

“Do you want to tell her the truth?” Charlie asked. Ne looked up at him. “About who you are.” He clasped his hands. “If she doesn’t realize that you’re the child that she’s carrying now, maybe some choices she makes will be different. It would sure change something.”

Ne stared, nir breath caught in nir throat. When ne managed to breathe, ne snarled: “You’d make the animal raise me?”

“That would save you. At least you can change something about your past.” Not like him, he meant. Somewhere in this world, baby Charlie lived already with his foster parents.

Struck dumb, ne got up, gave nir back to him and Molly. That was preposterous and horrifying and, most likely, true. Raven had made a choice when she’d approached father; she’d chosen him to raise nem, she’d chosen to withhold the truth about nir parentage. A truth that, had the animal known it, would have spared nem a world of pain.

Ne didn’t know what to do. Surely that was too big a change, to make nem grow up in a different household? Far from father, from Maiko. What would ne become, with that monster as father? Maybe the hard criminal that the strange X-Men that had come back seemed to hate? Was ne willing to pay _that_ price? But certainly that wouldn’t be the change that saved the future –

“There’s no need to decide now,” Charlie said. “I know it’s big. We can lie now and amend everything later, explain Raven the truth, tell her to put Creed as far away from you as she can.”

Ne turned to look at him, biting nir lower lip. “Lie now? Why not the opposite?”

Charlie cocked his head. “I think that’s better, yes. If we tell the truth immediately, it’ll be more difficult to make her believe a lie later. How can you say you’re in her belly right now and then turn around and say that’s not true, you’re actually younger? Why would you lie about that? Maybe you aren’t even her child, but some shapeshifter unrelated to her – and so on.” He waved a hand. “Conversely, if you tell her that you’ll be born years from now and then later tell her that actually, that’s not really true, you can sell it as you being extra-careful not to change the bits of future you wanted to preserve. Which would be almost the truth, by the way.”

Ne didn’t like it. Fuck, ne didn’t like it at all. But Charlie was right, as always.

If it went all wrong, there would be no compulsion to blame for nir decision. This would be on nem.

Ne hoped ne was doing the right thing. “All right, we’ll do it your way. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Raven had checked in under Blaire’s name in a five stars hotel.

Security was tight, but with a bit of telepathy one could achieve wonders, and they managed to acquire a passepartout relatively quickly. Thanks to the blueprints Charlie had downloaded they navigated the building easily, with nem disguised as a staffer and Charlie cloaking Molly and himself from view. Soon enough they found themselves standing outside her suite.

Ne took a deep breath, and knocked. “Room service, Ms. Blaire.”

Ne heard her move around, immediately alerted. She hadn’t asked for anything; whoever was at the other side of her door could be anyone.

Finally she opened the door, just an inch. She wore a bathtowel, her hair was wet – neat trick, ne’d have to try it sometime – and she still had the face of Alison Blaire. “I didn’t order anything.” Ne smelt gunpowder; she had a weapon ready.

Ne let nir eyes flash yellow for a second; she didn’t react outwardly, but her heartbeat did falter. “May we come in? For Irene’s sake?” ne said as Charlie uncloaked himself and Molly. It was a gamble; aunt Rogue had talked about Irene Adler, Destiny, and ne theorized that it was the same woman Raven had talked about before she died.

Raven bared her teeth and opened the door, allowing them to enter. As she closed the door behind them, ne heard the click of a gun. Ne raised nir hands, placing nemself between her and Charlie. “There’s no need –”

“You’re the ones that have been snooping around,” she interrupted nem. So she’d noticed; it was, unexpectedly, a relief to know that she wasn’t that sloppy. “You have some nerve to come here and use that name. Who are you? Copycat?”

“I have no idea who that is.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I have a hard time believing it.” She had her gun on nem, but she was in for a surprise.

Obviously, it would be much better if she didn’t fire.

“I’m Charles,” Charlie said. His wheelchair moved so that he’d be beside nem. “You gave me away last year. I’m sure you remember that.”

She hesitated. Then she tightened her hold on the weapon. “When I’m done with you, you’ll tell me how do you know about him. Who are you?”

_Oh my, she cares_. That was a bit unexpected, given how coldly she’d abandoned him. Ne eyed Charlie; he was keeping everything in check under that dome of calmness, but ne could hear it faintly, his burning hate. This strain couldn’t be good.

“Calm down there, mama.” That word, ne could see it, shocked her perhaps more than nir simultaneous turning into a male version of nemself. While her heartbeat was going wild, though, she kept calm and collected, her finger ready on the trigger, her eyes coldly taking nem in as the change settled in. Ne took the same masculine aspect ne’d worn at the school; ne felt she didn’t deserve to see nem. “We know because we’re your children. From the future.”

“Prove it.” No hesitation at all, the gun still trained on them.

“Gosh, that’s going to be a little difficult for me,” ne said. “I’m not even born yet. But Charlie’s the spitting image of his father, wouldn’t you say?”

“I also have his powers,” Charlie said matter-of-factly. It kind of sounded like a threat. Ne threw him a glance; his face betrayed nothing. “You can stop pretending you have no idea of who we are, mother; I can see you saw us in Cape Citadel.” This did startle Raven, and she took a step back. “And –” Charlie continued, “You know we do come from the future. That’s what that woman says in your memory. The Commander. Hill.”

“You can read my mind?” Raven’s gaze became colder, if that could even be possible.

“Ah, I see.” Charlie turned to look at nem. “She’s a bit taken aback, Raze. My father couldn’t access her mind.”

“Well, we know I’m a bit more powerful than her, so that kind of makes sense,” ne nodded sagely. Raven’s heartbeat was definitely agitated. It did send shivers of pleasure down nir spine. _Up yours, Raven._

But they had to make her trust them; ne couldn’t taunt her with this.

Ne turned to her with a practiced smile. “It’s a generational thing, I guess?” Ne still had nir hands held up, totally not-threatening, but with their powers that posture meant nothing. “Look, mama,” ne shrugged, “Sorry for dumping this on you, but we didn’t know where else to go. We need –”

“Who’s your father?” She interrupted nem. She was doing the math in her head already, looking at nem with that calculating gaze. Oh, how ne hated it.

“Well, if you shoot me I’ll heal,” ne smirked, unsheathing nir claws. Her eyes moved quickly to them, then returned on nir face. She seemed to be looking for something in nir features, and ne’d taken care of that already. She’d see the similarities immediately.

“Logan?” There was a hint of disbelief in her voice.

“Yup.” Ne retracted nir claws. “That Neanderthal, ugh. You couldn’t choose better?” She ignored the comment. There was a question in her eyes – what of the child she was carrying now? – but she didn’t ask. That would be giving away information she didn’t know if they had. After all, she was even masking her scent, so that nobody with their hypersenses could notice a pregnancy.

Her gaze moved behind them, to Molly, as she slowly lowered her gun. For now, she believed them. “And you?”

“My name is Molly Hayes, ma’am. Of the Runaways; I don’t know if you ever heard of us.”

“I have.” Raven stood with her arm relaxed, the gun pointing at the floor.

Then she turned into herself.

It took nir breath away; for better or worse, ne realized, she was still nir mother. And seeing her in front of her, in the flesh, when the last time ne’d seen her she’d been a crazed maniac, nir claws deep into her skull –

This Raven was, perhaps, closer to what ne remembered as nir mother. That woman who would read to nem sometimes, who gave nem piggyback rides. Always very busy, but never so much so that she couldn’t spend time with nem.

And yet, she was still the same woman who’d abandoned nem and Charlie. The same woman who’d decided to sentence nem to a life of misery by withholding the truth.

She still was a monster. Ne had to remember that.

She secured the gun in her belt. “When I saw you in Cape Citadel,” she said, looking at Charlie, “I thought that him, at least, must be related to me,” she said, nodding towards Raze. “That, or he wished to emulate me. The rest of your people is dead?”

“Yes. Wade Wilson, Hank McCoy, Jean Grey, Bobby Drake.” Charlie listed them off as it were nothing, but Raze and Molly had to wince at his forced callousness.

“Mhmm.” Raven pursed her lips, maybe at their choice of allies. “And you come to me. Why?” She kept talking to Charlie as if thinking he was the leader. Certainly he looked like the more collected of the three, and there was the threat of telepathy. She must also be wondering how Charlie felt about her abandoning him, and that might make her think that deferring to him should be wiser.

Honestly, that suited nem. Ne didn’t want to have to deal with her too much. Ne didn’t trust nemself; whereas Charlie, also thanks to his mental barrier, could talk to her without wanting to tear her to shreds.

Ne tuned in to the conversation. Charlie was explaining that they were trying to change the future, to prevent a war that would decimate mutants. She listened intently; it was clear she was worried.

“Why did you fight with the X-Men?” she asked. “I’m sure stopping a war is in their interest too.”

“Oh, we tried going to them, but our methods weren’t really ethical,” Charlie said smoothly. “And our X-Men, from our future, told them we were criminals.” It was all in the wording, really; even a practiced manipulator could be led to believe a lie, if it was enough coated in truth. “I don’t know what they thought we were trying to do, but they didn’t even give us the time to explain, attacking and killing us.”

“They do tend to do that.” Raven’s lips curled; she sat on a chair, her posture relaxed enough.

They had her under their thumb. Now, just to give it some extra spice –

“So you’ll help us?” ne jumped in, giving in to the role of the younger and immature sibling. “Because if you don’t, we might never see you again –” Ne even made nir lip tremble.

“Raze!” Charlie sounded shocked; his mental barrier really permitted him to pretend more smoothly. He turned to Raven, who had raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to know that.”

“You’re not that fond of me, I gather?” Her smile was a knife.

“Don’t be ridiculous, mother.” Charlie waved a hand. “I won’t lie to you and pretend you giving me away didn’t sting.” _Ah!_ When he’d come to Madripoor to torture her! Raze had to control nemself somewhat fiercely not to snort. “But we put it behind us. And your death wasn’t pretty, I assure you.”

Raze didn’t have to fake a shiver; it caught nem unawares, and ne bit nir tongue. _She deserved that_ , ne reminded nemself.

“Well, I plan on surviving.” That she’d certainly done. For a while, at least. It was good that when ne faltered she always reminded nem of how much of a bastard she was. “Talk me through it, then.” She crossed her legs. “What do you need?”

They told her.

They needed a distraction, a way to infiltrate the school and take Quentin Quire and Evan Sabahnur; they had no intention to harm them, as Hank’s warning was still on their mind, and that could bring unwanted consequences; but they’d make sure to instill in them some knowledge that would make them choose differently. They’d tell Sabahnur to leave the Original Five alone; Jean had said that before he turned he was just a sweet little kid. She theorized that he must have decided to send the Original Five alone to save the future, and while she hadn’t ever disclosed why would he think so, now Charlie thought that it could be because they had caused it, coming here and telling the Five would bring death to mutants. He’d believed the Brotherhood.

In other words, they might have caused Apocalypse’s birth, so they had to fix everything now. It was a damn snake chasing its tail, and in any other moment Raze would have had a panic attack; but ne was trying to hold on, at least until ne came back to a hopefully better future.

As for Quire – honestly, they were just going to tell him to chill the fuck out.

They didn’t say all this to Raven, but kept it vague; and they assured her that by Hank’s calculations this was the best course of action.

“He’s dead, though,” she said callously. “Obviously his plan didn’t work out.”

“Yeah. But we have more knowledge, remember? We aren’t telling you everything – believe me, I would, but we can’t. You get that, don’t you, mama? I know you do.” Raze made nir best impression of a doting, starry-eyed son. “This is really the best plan.”

Making her think of Irene Adler seemed to do the trick.

Of course, asking for her help meant having to work with her people too. So it wasn’t too big a surprise – ne’d had ample time to prepare nemself – when the next day she introduced them to the animal himself.

 

* * *

 

Father had never mentioned that the Raze he’d met had _met_ Creed.

Maybe he didn’t know, or maybe he would have said something else, had Raze let him speak instead of tearing at him and shrieking that ne hated him. Ne would never know, because ne hadn’t ever talked to him again. Their last meeting was a bleeding wound that would never heal.

Ne shouldn’t think about this now, seeing the animal coming towards nem, his scent filling nir nostrils; it might make nem slip up, and ne didn’t want to soil father’s memory by thinking about him when ne was so close to the animal.

Ne shouldn’t think about this, but ne couldn’t resist. Maybe it was a shield against the monster, a way to protect nir mind, to avoid reliving it all. Pants and grunts and cruel laughter.

Or ne could also think about something else entirely. As the animal finally stopped beside Raven and eyed them all, his nose crunching as he doubtlessly picked up nir scent, Raze pictured his entrails, which ne’d made quite a mess of as ne gutted him, and felt a beatific smile come to nir lips.

“Uncle Victor!” ne greeted.

With Raven thinking ne was possibly the third in a quick succession of children, and with her already surmising that she must have brought nem up due to nem calling her _mama_ , ne had to show that at least ne knew the animal; as her second child’s father, he would be around her house.

Creed’s eyebrows shot up. “Uncle?”

“Meet my sons from the future, Victor.” Emphasis on _my_. “Charles, and Raze. Do play nice.”

“Of course, darlin’.” Creed glanced at Charlie, snickered, then returned his attention to Raze. “Yer uncle, huh?” Ne sneered. “Is this runt litter I smell?”

Raze’s knuckles itched. Oh, how ne wanted to stab him. Ne managed to grimace an apologetic smile as ne tucked nir head into nir shoulders. “Yep. Sorry.”

Creed’s fingers twitched, as if he, too, was contemplating stabbing nem. Raven’s lips curled into a fixed, icy threat. “Victor,” she said sweetly.

“Sorry, darlin’.” Creed rubbed at his head. “It’s just, the idea of bein’ all mushy with Logan’s spawn –”

“We share our contempt for the man,” Raze assured him. Charlie was looking at them, but thankfully his face displayed nothing.

Not that his mind did. It was still enclosed by that numbing dome.

Creed cackled. “He’s a bit posh, heh?” Cataloguing nem as definitely not a threat, he looked at Molly.

Nir hackles rising, Raze had to physically restrain nemself from going after him. His scent – he was thinking. Things. About Molly. With Raven a few steps from him, carrying his child, he was thinking about what he could do to Molly.

“Molly would crush you if you attempted anything like that, Mr Creed.” Charlie spoke up, his voice flat. “Not to mention that I’d trap you in a nightmare, and Raze would use his claws quite creatively.”

It only went to confirm that Creed wasn’t just thinking about sex, but about violence too. Ne had honestly no idea what Raven found in him – or maybe ne did; they were both disgustingly amoral – but ne was really rethinking Charlie’s whole insane idea. Not even the prospect of saving nemself from horrible torture was enough to make nem want to be brought up by _Creed._ Yes, ne’d forget everything ne was supposed to be, but the person ne was now couldn’t _stomach_ what ne could become if ne changed the past like this.

Nir decision made, ne offered a strained smile to Creed. “Yeah. Love you, but don’t hurt my friends.” The word burned on nir tongue, but ne forced nemself to say it; for now, ne had to keep up with the charade.

Creed barked a laughter. “Sure thing, junior. Apologies, m’lady.” He bowed mockingly, and Molly just kept ignoring him, turning to Raven instead.

“You want us to work with him?” She didn’t keep the disdain out of her voice.

Raven nodded. “He’s a handful, but also formidable. He could be useful for breaking into the school, if you can stomach working with such an unpleasant person.”

“I’m right here, darlin’.”

“Then act like an adult.”

“Aww, Raven, you hurt me.”

“Not nearly enough.”

“But I do love it so.”

Their bickering was nauseating, but ne was still stuck on what had preceded it. She wanted to set Creed on the school? She knew what he was capable of, what he thought, what he _did_ , and she would willingly set him on a school full of children?

_Please calm down, Raze_. Charlie skirted at the edge of nir mind.

_Oh, I’m calm_. Fuck, ne was as calm as ne could be. Nir mind was practically filled with images of nir torture of the animal, of Raven’s death. Ne should strike them dead, right here, and consequences be damned.

_That would be monumentally stupid_ , Charlie said. _We knew they’d be like this. I knew she’d be like this. I never held any illusions regarding Raven_. The implication was clear. _I know you’re hurting, but we need to stay sharp. Suck it up, Raze_.

Had he been his usual self, without that dome around his mind, Charlie would have been horrified at saying that. Hell, he’d have never said it. Ne knew that.

It hurt, nevertheless.

 

* * *

 

Ne sucked it up, and smiled, and said ne looked forward to work with uncle Creed.

Especially given ne “wanted to save him from a horrible death too,” and that set the animal to behave, at last. With all of that resolved, they finally set to work.

Ne smiled so much that nir jaw hurt.

Everything hurt, in truth, but ne had to suck it up. It hurt to see Raven interact with Creed; it hurt to see Creed, period.

It hurt to see Charlie work with them as if nothing could touch him, but knowing that he must be screaming at the indignity and not allowing himself to feel anything.

It hurt to see all of that and have to suck it up. It hurt to know ne had put up a wall between them when ne’d pushed him on the jet; Charlie wasn’t blameless, he still had played with nir mind, but pushing him had been inexcusable.

But they were working now and ne had to suck it up, suck everything up.

Raven found cannon fodder for them – human mercenaries – and came up with a plan.

They needed to drive the X-Men – as many X-Men as they could – away from the school. Then they needed to dispose of the remaining X-Men and of all the students, that would surely try to fight. She had access to power dampeners, thanks to her disgusting play with S.H.I.E.L.D., so that wouldn’t be an issue. But they still had to drive the X-Men away.

So she suggested that one of the Brotherhood acted as bait. They needed a threat big enough to empty the school, as sadly she had nothing of the sort to offer them, and right now, the Brotherhood was that.

That is: she didn’t want to risk everything she was working on. She certainly perceived the urgency of the matter, but ultimately, hadn’t she always been more focused on herself? Of course she would stay on the sidelines, likely creating more means of survival for herself. Ne was coming to understand that mutant survival had never been her goal – it was just an excuse to act violently, do as she wanted.

But anyway, the plan. Charlie nodded throughout her explanation, and when she finished, he said: “All right, I’ll go.”

It took them all by surprise. Raze and Molly knew better than to voice it, but Raven was having trouble with that, her lips pressed into a thin line. Creed couldn’t care less, obviously, but he was blatantly staring at the wheelchair. As if he thought that Charlie was somehow less because of it.

Oh, how ne wanted to kill him. Kill him, and be done with everything.

“I was thinking,” Raven began in a conciliatory tone, “more on the lines of –”

“You were thinking to send Molly, yes.” Charlie shook his head and of course, how hadn’t they thought about it? Molly was disposable; she wasn’t Raven’s blood. “I know she looks very sturdy and imposing,” Charlie continued, not bothering to point out Raven’s sick reasoning, “But I’m the biggest threat among us, the more likely to make the X-Men come in numbers we deem acceptable. So it’s going to be me.”

Raze knew better than to argue about him putting himself in danger; the last time ne’d done so, ne’d soured things between them. Still, ne couldn’t help what ne said next.

“You’ll need backup. I’ll stay with you.”

“No.” His tone was final. He turned to look at nem. “Mother will give me enough backup. We can’t risk putting all of us on the line. If I fall, there will still be you, and Molly.”

“That’s –”

“That’s how it will be.” _Don’t make me force you_.

Raze bared nir teeth at the words, felt a growl escape nir lips. _You swore you’d never do that again!_

_But you’re being unreasonable._ Charlie didn’t grimace, didn’t even flinch. He was truly gone. _And you’re acting foolishly again, making them think there’s a rift between us_. It was true; Raven and Creed were studying them, no doubt cataloguing their posture, their silence. _We can’t give them such a weapon, Raze_.

Raze breathed in, relaxing nir muscles _. I hate this. I – I hate what you’re doing, Charlie. What you’re becoming. I wish –_

_Now’s definitely not the time to talk about it_. Charlie tapped his finger on the table. “All right, little brother?”

With a sigh, Raze nodded. It seemed it never was the right time. “Yeah. Just – try to stay alive.”

“Sure thing.” Charlie nodded. “And anyway, one of us has to stay with mother.”

It turned out that, in order to help them, Raven needed to access S.H.I.E.L.D.’s mainframe. She said that, from there, they could be able to access the school’s system, and control everything remotely. That way, they could keep any remaining X-Men occupied.

That would obviously be Raze’s task. A field trip with mother; ne did nir best to show at least a little bit of excitement.

Molly would go to the school with Creed, collect Quentin Quire and Evan Sabahnur, and bring them to the island.

“And there will be no harming the students,” Charlie said. Molly nodded; she’d keep Creed in line.

“Sure thing, junior.” Creed smirked. “Just a bit o’ tough love, is all.”

Raze seethed _. I’ll show him –_

_Quiet, Raze._ Charlie smiled at Creed.

 

* * *

 

_Quiet, Raze._ Like ne was a lackey, or a watchdog.

Obviously Charlie felt as strongly about Creed hurting the kids as ne felt, but to shut nem up like that –

Still, what could ne do? Ne couldn’t kill him. Ne couldn’t show what ne really felt about the monster, not now that they were almost there. Ne had to suck it up, and that was it.

Ne was sucking it up now, as ne watched Charlie prepare to leave with a jet that would bring him to Florida. There he’d make his damnedest to be noticed by the X-Men, and wait for them.

Ne wanted to approach him, hug him, tell him ne was an idiot and he was an idiot too and to just please keep safe; but ne couldn’t bring nemself to.

Charlie could hear nir thoughts, anyway.

Raven was being all doting mother, giving him advice and fussing. Ne still thought that it was partly a ruse, partly her being scared shitless of what he could do to her if he decided that after all he did hate her for abandoning him.

Of course, Charlie could hear her thoughts too, so she was being very stupid. Maybe she wasn’t used to that.

Or maybe she did care about Charlie. A bit. In her own, devious way. Maybe she had cared about nem, as well.

_Keep on track_. Charlie nudged nir mind.

That, ne still hated. But gone was every ounce of restraint from Charlie, now. He felt nothing, and only thought in terms of what was more efficient. _Could you please stop?_

_Mhmmm_. Charlie was boarding the jet. _Stay focused. I’m gifting you this, in case we don’t see each other ever again._

_What?_ Ne asked in alarm, taking a step towards the jet, but then Charlie turned and surveyed them all: nem and Molly and Raven and Creed. “One last thing,” he said serenely.

Creed dropped down with a scream.

He lay there, writhing and whimpering like the disgusting animal he was. Raze had to control nemself fiercely, so that nir delight wouldn’t show on nir face; Raven was shouting at Charlie to stop, asking what was he doing, but she was also closely studying nem. Her fingers seemed to itch for the gun, but for now it appeared that she was forgoing taking action against her son. Fearing, perhaps, it could be her writhing on the floor, subjected to mental torture.

It stopped too soon; Creed stopped moving and he lay there, panting heavily, his eyes screwed shut.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Raven snarled.

Charlie cocked his head. “I’m giving the man a warning. I didn’t like what he was thinking; I wanted to impart that the students are not to be harmed.” He held up a hand. “Do forgive me, mother. Mr. Creed?”

The beast growled.

“I trust we reached an understanding?”

Another growl. Charlie nodded.

“Good. I’d hate to have to do this again.”

Raze had to hold back a snicker. _I’d certainly love you to._

_I’m glad you appreciated._ Raze sobered up; Charlie was entering the jet. Raven didn’t move to Creed’s side, but was looking at him intently. And then at Raze. She’d certainly ask nem why ne hadn’t intervened on behalf of nir “uncle”.

None of that was important now. Raze raised nir hand up high and waved at Charlie.

_Just – stay safe, yeah?_

Charlie nodded. _Not to worry, Raze. Just focus_.

 

* * *

 

After that spectacle – when Creed managed to drag himself to a sitting position and then to stand up, he stormed out – the prospect of spending time alone with Raven wasn’t too daunting. Ne’d suck it up, do nir job, and then come back to Madripoor. They’d deal with Quire and Sabahnur, and then they’d go back home.

And everything would be fine. Hopefully.

Nir thoughts were of this variety as ne sat in the cockpit of the jet that S.H.I.E.L.D. had given Raven – while thinking she was Alison Blaire, their mutant liaison. Raze had no idea of where Raven was keeping Blaire, but as they knew the woman would survive whatever ordeal she was being subjected to and would then go on to become the face of mutant hope, the Brotherhood had decided to shrug it off. They had no idea what changes would affect their timeline without creating another one, so they’d decided to stick to what Jean and Hank had said.

So ne sat in the cockpit, nir eyes on the instruments, and sometimes ne risked a glance at Raven. The woman was focused on the flight, and she still hadn’t said anything about Charlie attacking Creed. Ne doubted she didn’t care at all, as, judging from Creed’s words before ne killed him, she should be currently entertaining the thought of playing family with the monster.

With a sigh, Raze brought nir attention back to the instruments. At their current speed, they’d reach the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier soon. Ne remembered its flaming wreckage after father had taken care of it, in retaliation for nir kidnapping; ne wondered how its interiors would be.

There was a brush against nir mind. _Raze?_

The connection, it seemed, worked even when they were so distant from each other. They’d been a bit worried about that; they’d tested it when Charlie had landed, but now ne was in the air. Charlie’s voice was a bit faint, but clear. _Yes?_

_We underestimated Creed_.

Raze made a face. _Why?_

_I need you to stay calm, and relay my words to Raven. We have no time for anything else._

_… Okay._ Ne glanced at Raven.

_Creed incapacitated Molly. She’s fine_ , he added immediately, as Raze had growled, nir claws almost out. The bastard! _Raze, I said I need you to stay calm. She’s on the move already, she’s going after him. But he has more than an hour on her. I want you to tell Raven to call that fucker and make him_ _wait for Molly before attacking. I don’t trust him not to hurt the students._

_No shit._ Raze clenched nir fists. _I’m on it._ “Mama?”

Ne turned to Raven. The woman was glancing surreptitiously at nem. “Is there some problem?”

“Yeah. Uncle Creed went solo.” Ne explained the situation. The only reaction she had was an exasperated sigh, then she pressed a button on the control panel.

“Victor?”

“Yes, darlin’?” Creed’s voice was disturbed by other sounds, people around him.

“Why didn’t you stick to the plan?”

“I just felt like it, darlin’.” He sounded smug. Raze gritted nir teeth. Raven glanced at nem.

“Well, that won’t do. Stay put, wait for Hayes.”

“Look, darlin’, I’ll stay put for as long as I can,” Creed drawled. “But Xavier Jr. has already started his show and time is kind of the essence. As far as I’m concerned, as soon as the Blackbird leaves for him and you two do your part, I’m gonna bomb the place with the gas.”

Raven drummed on the controls, thinking. Raze was fuming. _Are you hearing this, Charlie?_

_Yeah. It’s my fault; I should have waited for all of you to be in place. I wanted to give you more time to leave, after._ And given he now was so cold and calculating, he hadn’t thought to talk it through, thinking the idea sound enough. Raze grimaced as Charlie continued: _Tell him to proceed if he has to, tie up everyone, but wait for Molly anyway. Quire and Sabahnur will ride with her. I don’t trust him not to hurt them on the jet._

Ne bit nir lower lip. _Are you sure_ –

_There’s nothing else we can do. And tell him this: if he strays from the plan, or of I discover that he lay a finger on anyone, retaliation is going to be much worse than what I already did to him._

Raze relayed the message, sprinkling it with apologies and saying that Charlie was just like that. Creed remained silent for a while, but ne could almost hear him bristling. Raven clicked her tongue. “There’s no need for threats. Victor understands, don’t you, Victor?”

“Yeah,” he spat, probably through gritted teeth. “Sure thing.”

“Good. I trust you’ll behave.” Raven glanced at the instruments. “We’re entering S.H.I.E.L.D. airspace. From now on I’ll be on radio silence. Good luck, everyone.” She pressed the button; on her features, exasperation mingled with fondness.

Raze stared. Ne couldn’t get it. Oh, ne knew they were similar, both monsters. But ne couldn’t get how could she feel anything but contempt for the animal. How could she think to raise a child with him?

Ne wouldn’t let her. Ne wouldn’t let her do this to nem. Ne wanted to grow up with father, and Maiko, despite all the coming pain; and ne wanted to remember nir childhood when ne came back to the future, whatever happened.

Raven glanced at nem. “Is there something else? Is Charles is telling you anything?”

“No.” Ne’d shatter her domestic dream right here. “I was just wondering when you’d start to show.” Ne pointed at her belly.

Raven froze. Oh, she kept her hands on the controls, sharply focused on the flight, but her eyes were glinting – she had a feverish gaze; she was thinking furiously.

Raze shook nir head. “No, you didn’t slip up – you still smell distinctly _not_ pregnant. But my birthday’s coming up – literally,” ne grinned, propping nir legs up on the control panel. So was nir twentieth. Ne hoped ne’d manage to celebrate it in a better world. “It’s this coming September. The 13 th. So I was wondering when would it show.”

_And unless you’re a real whore, I can’t be Logan’s._ Ne regarded her with fake amicability, filial curiosity. She was definitely realizing something was wrong. _And these claws – I can’t be the animal’s, right? So then I must be –_

Raven exhaled. Oh, ne knew she’d make tests on nem to ascertain nir paternity, and then she’d discover it was really fucked up, and _then_ she’d make the choice that would doom nem; but for now, she thought the baby in her belly wasn’t Creed’s. That was what mattered.

Knowing ne’d just hurt her made nir own pain almost worth it.

 

* * *

 

Raven didn’t confront nem.

It was really a pity, but after all, they were on a mission here. And they needed to stay sharp: everything depended on them now.

They landed on the Helicarrier and ne followed her meekly, taking the aspect of a mousy assistant, as she navigated the enormous space with ease and managed to sell nir presence.

There were no complications, and she led them to the office she had on the ship. As she guarded the door, Raze went immediately to her computer: from there ne should be able to access S.H.I.E.L.D.’s mainframe, and then the X-Men’s.

It was all so obsolete it was laughable. Ne hacked into the ship’s mainframe without breaking a sweat, and then started the slow, careful process of approaching the X-Men’s. It seemed they’d done some upgrade, but it wouldn’t help them.

Raven was staring at nem. Ne was, perhaps, re-evaluating nem; this young “man” whom she’d thought to be a stupid boy and was now showing her nir skills. Maybe she caught more layers now; she was certainly warier of nem than before, her posture casually on a defensive stance.

Raze finished typing up a string of commands. “Aaaand I’m in.”

Raven pushed herself off the door. “Really?”

“Yep.” Ne turned the monitor so that she’d see. “Piece of cake.”

She arched an eyebrow; ne could tell she was impressed.

_Good_. Charlie’s thought reached nem. _All’s settled here too. I’m being spied on; I’m betting the X-Men will leave soon, get ready._

_Ahead of you._

Ne studied the blueprints, the files. It seemed the most secure place was the lab; they’d have to trap any remaining X-Men there. That was where Raven came in.

Something beeped and Raze glanced at the notification. _The Blackbird just took off._

_Good. Show’s on. Good luck._

_You too._ Raze repeated the information to Raven. She was coming to stand beside nem, ready for her part, when the phone on her desk rang.

She accepted the call with a grimace. “Yes?”

“Blaire, get your ass here,” barked a woman’s voice. “Some nonsense with that future Brotherhood again.”

Ne felt nir heart stop; they exchanged a glance. Raven tilted her head.

“Could you be more specific, Hill?”

“More specific? More-?” The woman sounded flustered. “The X-Men called. They had a lead and went to capture the Brotherhood. I want you here to help me outline a response that won’t piss the X-Men off. Those fuckers did enough property damage in Cape Citadel that we can claim jurisdiction.”

And then cart Charlie off to be experimented on. Oh hell no. She’d take him from nir cold dead hands.

“Understood. I’m coming, Hill.” Raven hung up, then pursed her lips. “I’m needed on deck. Do you think you can handle this?”

Ne almost laughed hysterically out loud. Almost. _Handle impersonating you?_

Ne waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about me, mama. Go on, or you’ll blow our cover.”

With a last calculating glance, she left.

Well. Ne cracked nir knuckles and neck. _Show’s on, indeed_.

 

* * *

 

Ne video-called the school, while wearing Blaire’s face. Hank answered; ne said S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten their message, but that she needed to speak to them, off the record. Could Hank please call all the others? It was extremely urgent.

Ne even wrung nir hands.

The idiot complied. It felt like a betrayal to think of him that way, but he had nothing of the Hank he would become. That man had sacrificed himself for the plan; this one was but a pale shadow of his greatness.

Soon, the lab started filling up. Iceman, and a blonde woman called Husk, and the infamous Remy LeBeau. Iceman went off again, to retrieve the old bastard, whom, he said sotto-voce to Hank, was “probably trying to talk to Hiro.” Some troubled student, Raze surmised from their grimace.

Ne tried to make some small talk, but soon enough, the old bastard showed up, following Iceman with a pissed-off expression.

“Okay, what do you want, Blaire?” he barked. Raze studied them all. They were so few; this meant Charlie was facing far too many of them. Ne hoped he’d manage to hold them off. “That’s all of you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the old bastard said dismissively. Irritated, Raze got ready, nir fingers on the keyboard. “What’s up?”

“Look,” ne said, just because his attitude really made nem want to rub it in that he’d got played _again_ , “This is for the best.” With an apologetic smile, ne closed the doors of the lab, trapping them.

The old bastard yelled: “What the _hell_ , Blaire?” and ne couldn’t take it, that she’d be accused of something she hadn’t done while horrible things were probably happening to her. Making a decision, hoping it wouldn’t create problems later, ne turned into Raven.

“Agent Blaire is incapacitated.” That would hopefully make them search for her, when all of this was over. Meanwhile, nir fingers were flying on the keyboard to counterattack whatever Hank was throwing at nem. He tried to initiate an emergency protocol first, but Raze had de-activated it already.

Ne shook nir head; ne almost pitied them – knowing their students were alone, that something was happening to them. Ne deflected another swift attack by Hank and prepared to turn off the communication. “That won’t work,” ne told Hank. _Don’t waste your energy_. “Worry not, we’ll free you soon.”

Ne left them with that promise and turned all their screens off, for good measure. But Hank, ne quickly realized, was going to try counterattacking nem even without them. And he was creative, ne’d give him that.

It would be more difficult than ne’d thought. Ne gave it everything ne had, always barely staying ahead of Hank. Nir fingers hurt but ne kept on, knowing it all hinged on nem. Ne lost track of time; it was just nem and the computer, lost in a fight to protect the future.

But Hank couldn’t keep it up forever. At some point, his attempts got half-hearted, sloppy. He was getting tired, probably; Raze used the change of pace to try accessing their surveillance system, but ne was in for a nasty surprise.

Ne couldn’t. It probably run on a separate, local server. It wasn’t ideal – ne’d wanted to check on what Creed was doing, make sure he wasn’t harming the kids; but ne’d have to do without. Ne only hoped Molly got there soon.

Ne was still lazily opposing Hank’s weak attempts when Raven came back. “Situation?” she asked briskly, after having closed the door.

“Charlie still hasn’t reported back.” Molly was going to tell him when she arrived at the school. “The X-Men are still in the lab.”

“Good.” With a nod, she went to sit on a chair.

“And that thing about claiming jurisdiction on whoever the others capture?” ne inquired.

“I was able to convince Hill it wouldn’t be wise to antagonize the X-Men after what happened in Cape Citadel.” Raven tilted her head, studying nem intently. “ _If_ they capture Charles, she’ll leave him to them. It will be much easier to save him from them than from a government facility.”

_Especially given once we get out of here, your cover will be blown._ “Okay.” Ne hoped it didn’t come to that; ne wanted to ask Charlie how was he doing, but if he was fighting ne couldn’t distract him. Ne returned nir attention to the monitor. _Huh_.

“What is it?” Raven straightened up slightly.

“Hank stopped trying to overrule me. Must have realized it’s a waste of energy.” With a contented sigh, ne leant back against the chair.

Only to jump to nir feet a second later, alarmed, as nir eyes took in the new information coming from the screen. Strings of text that made absolutely no sense; ne’d trapped every X-Man on the premises!

Cursing, ne bent on the keyboard once more and run a diagnostic, trying to gain more information. The doors would never open, they’d apparently been reinforced, but ne could glean what kind of attack they were being subjected to.

“Someone slipped between your fingers?” Ne started at hearing the voice so close to nem; Raven had reached nem in front of the computer and was studying the screen.

“I don’t understand, they said it was all of them!”

Raven shook her head. “Obviously they lied. Someone’s free, and is trying to free them too.” Her gaze turned cold. “You were sloppy.”

_Oh, fuck off!_ Raze focused furiously on the screen: the results were up. It was some kind of energy beam – the figures were off the charts. The attempts were weak, for now, but steady. And they’d been going on for a while. Ne cursed. While ne was busy deflecting Hank’s half-hearted attacks, he’d managed to hide the doors’ data under other feeds.

There was a concrete risk the X-Men would come free soon.

Ne concentrated, trying to reach out to Charlie. _There’s a problem_ , ne said, hoping the message wouldn’t distract him as he fought. _What’s Molly’s ETA? The X-Men might break out soon._

Silence.

_Charlie?_ Dread filling nir veins, Raze squinted nir eyes shut. _Charlie, come on_. There should be a presence, at the edge of nir mind, ready to answer. There should be a warm, purple presence, but there was none. _Charlie? Charlie?_

“You’re trying to contact Charles.”

Ne opened nir eyes. Raven’s gaze was hard, calculating. Ne nodded, a lump in nir throat, something heavy burning in nir stomach. Ne didn’t want to put it into words, but ne must acknowledge it. “He’s gone.”

Gone. He was gone, captured or worse. He was _gone_ , and his absence was a gaping hole in nir mind. Ne couldn’t lose him too. God, ne couldn’t. Ne had to do something, save him –

Something dropped on nir shoulder and squeezed hard, like a vise. Ne was hyperventilating – ne couldn’t let Raven see nem like this. Ne focused on nir breathing until ne could hear something other than nir frantic heartbeat.

“We’ll operate on the assumption that the X-Men have him.” Raven’s tone was precise, clinical. Ne didn’t look at her; it was enough to smell her disdain. “Meaning they must be coming back already. We don’t know if your woman is already on site. We don’t know when will they break free,” she motioned to the screen, “Soon, it seems. The mission’s compromised.”

Her words had an air of finality. But no – ne refused to believe it. Ne couldn’t have lost Charlie for nothing, too. They’d get to the jet, warn Creed and Molly. Or maybe they were already gone and at least, at least the mission wouldn’t be for nothing, they could still change the future…

“- stay here, try to glean information. At least we can try and save Charles later,” Raven was saying.

Nir brain stuttered to a halt. “What?” Ne said weakly.

“I said go back to the jet, leave, try to contact Victor,” Raven snapped, irritated. “I’ll stay here and –” Ne tuned her out again.

She couldn’t stay.

She couldn’t stay on the Helicarrier to glean information, because ne’d been an idiot, and ne’d blown her cover. Ne was a fucking _idiot._ As soon as the X-Men broke free from the lab, as soon as they secured the students, they’d warn S.H.I.E.L.D.

Ne looked up at her. She was studying nem like ne was an insect, a nuisance, a cretin who hadn’t managed to do nir job and now couldn’t even follow simple directives and leave as she’d ordered. Ne’d jeopardized the mission because ne’d felt like it and now there was the concrete risk that Charlie had been captured for nothing, that they didn’t even have the kids, that they couldn’t fix anything – and they couldn’t even save Charlie if Raven got captured by S.H.I.E.L.D.!

“What are you waiting for?” she snapped. “Go! Maybe we can salvage something – ah, fuck!”

Her cuss mingled with a loud beep from the screen. The lab doors had exploded, and they had little time now.

Raze jumped to nir feet and grabbed her arm. “You need to come with me.”

“Child, don’t be stupid.” She arched an eyebrow. “Go. I can still find some information –”

“You can’t,” ne cut her off. No need to mince nir words. Ne braced for the worst and spoke truthfully. “I used your face. Your cover here’s blown.”

The change that came to her face was – uncanny and terrifying. Her features contorted, her eyes burned. Ne saw how lethal she was, and prepared to incapacitate her and run – but she just sneered: “You stupid _boy_ ,” and jerked her arm free.

Then she motioned for nem to follow.

The trip back to the jet was silent, and uncomfortable. They moved fast, nir heart in nir throat, the rigid muscles of her back exuding disappointment and rage, and ne could only think that ne’d lost another one. That ne’d never fix anything, that the future was lost.

Ne’d failed.

Ne longed so strongly for Maiko’s embrace. Ne wanted to bury nir face in her bosom, feel her arms on nir back, her hands stroking nem lightly; ne wanted to hear her comforting murmurs in nir ears. Ne was a stupid fuckup, ne’d ruined everything, and ne missed her.

God, ne missed her so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next_ : It was summer 2013, and Raven was going to Japan to see a man.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome ^-^ Do tell me your thoughts!


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